Dream of the Sea
by little-sunshine11
Summary: They faced alien invasions, Ultron, and a civil war, but who knew it would be a run-down underwater city that would bring them to their knees? Or, the one where little girls go missing on the East Coast, a dead girl with a Disney villain for a mother comes back to life, the Avengers get a much needed intervention, and a bunch of creepy kids mistake Tony for their 'daddy.'
1. The Catalyst

The drive to Wildwood from Philadelphia is a long, tiring one for Cindy Meltzer. Traffic hadn't been too terrible given that it was nearly ten o'clock at night, but it had been an inconvenience to drop everything and venture down that far. She was getting too old for this- too old to keep making these frequent, sudden trips for work, and certainly too old to be working. Most of her peers were retired by now, living like royalty on a timeshare in Aruba, but not Cindy. She had always been the exception to everything since she was small: the other children were obsessed with television, she'd rather curl up with a good mystery novel; she avoided the ocean like it was a plague, opting to visit the Mojave desert instead of the beach with her girlfriends, and worst of all, she actually enjoyed her job. There had been a joke in the office that she would be working until the day she died, and they were probably right.

The FBI was her life. Next year she would be going on thirty-years strong in the force, and honestly, she couldn't imagine her life not being in the bureau. She never married, never had any children, and the only friend- if she could even count him one- was her neighbor who occasionally would ask about her day as she left for work in the morning. Cindy didn't need a traditional family to be happy in life, though. She was perfectly content with her cat, Garfield, her collection of books, and her case files. The apple didn't fall too far from the tree. The old man was surely beaming with pride, wherever the hell he was.

The one downside to her job, besides the horrific shit she had to witness, was the traveling. Especially when it was so late in the night and sudden, such as this trip in particular. Thankfully, Wildwood wasn't too far away from Philly, but she'd have rather have been lounging in bed, falling asleep to Real Housewives.

Salty, fishy sea-air fills into the car through partly opened windows and Cindy groans. She had always hated that smell; it made her sick to her stomach. But, it meant she was getting closer. She can see Atlantic City from across the bay and passes by numerous billboards for one-hit wonder bands performing at the Borgata. If she could go her entire life without seeing the shore again, she would in a heartbeat. It brought back memories. Old, awful memories that still seemed new even after fifty years, and she'd rather not relive again.

Perhaps, if she did retire, she'd move down to Nevada with Garfield. He was a lazy bastard, he'd love lounging around in the sun all day. Besides, it would be nice to get away from the snow. The East Coast was always hit the hardest with snowstorms, and she would never miss living through a polar vortex.

The classic rock station she had been listening to since starting her drive begins to turn to static, and with a groan, she changes the station. Of course, she lets out another exasperated sigh when the generic summer pop hit of the year by Bieber plays throughout the car, and for a moment she's tempted to turn the radio off. Nope, it was probably best to leave it on. She could stay awake out of sheer spite. You know you're getting close to the shore when the radio turns to complete shit.

Thankfully, she's not going to Wildwood, per say, but right outside of it. There had been an accident by the bridge connecting the Woods to Ocean City, and apparently, it fit with the case she was on. She was skeptical. Wildwood was a hotspot for teenagers, and with teenagers came alcohol, and with alcohol came drunk driving, and there would always be accidents. Hopefully, it wouldn't be a disappointment. The officer on the other line sounded shaken up when they last spoke an hour ago.

The bright, flashing lights of police cars and ambulances are the signal that she's arrived at her destination. She turns her head for a second as it burns her eyes, and she pulls over further away to avoid a migraine. Cindy gets out of the car and strolls across the highway confidently. She's in charge now.

A cop calls over, asking in a sarcastic tone what the hell she was doing here, and is silenced when she flipped her badge. She loved doing that. It was probably her favorite part of the job. Nothing made her feel more powerful than watching these cops squirm when they tried anything. He lets her go on her way with a mumbled apology as he lowers his hat, embarrassed.

Most of the other officers are down below the bridge on the shore of the bay. It's a bit of a hike; she has to try not to fall down the steep hill, which was somewhat daunting when wearing heels. She liked looking good when working. But, she's Cindy Meltzer, and she can do anything. At least, that's what her old man used to say. Thankfully, she does make it down without breaking a heel or ankle

Smoke. Cindy could see the smoke from the top of the hill, but it's only when she gets to the bottom does she see just how bad it is. She coughs a bit; it's absolutely suffocating. The source of it is a Toyota Highlander smashed into one of the piers of the bridge. It must have been recently on fire given the small fire crew standing by.

"Ah, you're Agent Meltzer, correct?"

She turned her head to see an older officer with a bit of a beer belly and a salt and pepper mustache. He briskly walked over and held out his hand. "Sergeant John McKinley. Thank God you showed up."

"Thank you for calling me," Cindy replied, shaking his hand. "It was you who called me, right?"

"Yep. Sorry, I know how long the drive is-"

"No, no, it was fine. Traffic wasn't horrible." She looked out at the car. "Is this it?"

McKinley frowned. "Yeah. Listen, I'm just gonna warn you right now that it's bad in there. Like, I got some men here vomiting it's that bad."

"It takes a lot to phase me, Sarge," Cindy replied. "Let me see the crime scene."

McKinley motioned her forward with a sigh. "We got the coroner looking at it now," he began as they made their way over to the car. "She's never seen anything like this before, and she's been on the job for nearly twenty-five years."

"Want to give me some details on who our victims are?" Cindy asked.

"David and Kiera Banks: they're a couple from North-East Philly. At least, that's what we got from their ID's." He paused. "Their bodies are unrecognizable."

"They have a daughter, right?"

"Yeah, they have a little girl named June, but she's gone."

Cindy raised a brow. "Gone?"

"She's not in her carseat," McKinley said. "There's some blood on the sides that they're taking back for testing, but we don't know if it's hers or not." He took off his hat and ran a hand through his balding gray hair. "We got the Coast Guard out here looking for a body. The sun roof on the car is open, though, so maybe she unbuckled herself when they crashed and was washed away-"

"Don't waste their time," Cindy interrupted coolly.

The older man's eyes widen. "Waste of time?" he cried. "How the hell is it a waste of time?"

"It'll be difficult to explain until I talk to the coroner, but trust me, you're not going to find her."

A short Hispanic woman stepped out of the car with an ashen, solemn face and shaking hands. Sergeant McKinley patted her shoulder. "I know, Rosa, it's a rough one for all of us."

Rosa shook her head, causing some loose strands of black hair to fall from her tight bun. "No, no, it's not that," she said. "I'm confused. None of this makes any sense."

"What doesn't make any sense?" Cindy stopped. "Sorry, I haven't introduced myself. Agent Cindy Meltzer."

"Rosa Garcia. I'm the coroner." She meekly smiled, but it came out seeming more like she was fighting back tears. "Here, I'll show you what's going on." She adjusted her glasses, frowning. "Just giving you a heads up, it is fucked in there."

Cindy huffed. "I'm sure it is."

Fucked was not the way Cindy would describe the image she got the second the car door opened. No, when the smoke cleared out and she could see the scope of it, the only term she could come up with was FUBAR. Fucked up beyond all recognition. Immediately, the smell of burnt flesh hit her nostrils, and she gagged. It can be said that a lot of grilled things smell like chicken, but human beings weren't one of them. Sergeant McKinley has to take a step back.

There in the front seat are, or what was, David and Kiera Banks. She can't even tell them apart, that's how charred they are. They're pitch black, burnt to a crisp. Some bits of melted skin plop off an arm of one of the corpses and hit the floor. Cindy can only pray that the coffee she had earlier decides to not revisit. God, she'd need to bleach her eyeballs to unsee that shit.

She leans forward, doing her best to avoid the bodies, and begins to go through the backseat of the car. McKinley's findings about the sunroof being opened is the understatement of the century. Cindy quickly moves her hands away when she feels a shard of glass. It nearly slices her fingers.

The sunroof is busted open. There's some glass still attached barely, but something- or someone- must have crashed down. She knows what could have done this. There's only one thing that could cause this much damage, and she doesn't want to believe it true.

Then, there's the matter of the little Disney Princess themed booster seat. It's unlatched just as McKinley said, so he wasn't wrong about that, and she can see the dried up blood on the sides. Something on the other seat, not too far from June's chair, catches her eye. Cindy goes into her pockets, puts on some gloves, and picks it up, examining it with a small flashlight.

A child's fingernail.

Cindy's brows furrowed. "These have to be June's."

"You think?" McKinley asked.

"Who else's could they be?" Cindy rolled her eyes. "The blood on the seat must be hers."

Rosa nervously coughed in her fist. "The corpses are unusual. I've never seen anything like it before, and that's saying something."

"What's a matter with them?"

"Well, they died of extreme burns," Rosa began. "I think we all know that happened, but here's the odd part: they were dead before the car even crashed."

McKinley blinked. "I'm sorry, what?"

"Given the state of their bodies and the scorch marks on the front of the car, there was some kind of explosion that caused the crash," Rosa stated.

"How?"

"I don't know," she frowned. "We got the arson team on their way, but I can't find anything that could have triggered an explosion. No cigarettes, alcohol, lighters, nothing."

Cindy stood up and walked out of the scene, staring out at the choppy bay waters. She closed her eyes and exhaled as she felt a familiar panic begin to form in her stomach. The cold salty air brings her back to claustrophobic, flooded corridors, terrifying, deformed monsters, and him. It always went back to him. Her knight in shining armor, the man who sparked a love of codes and detective work, and who never gave up on her even after her mother lost all hope: her father.

For fifty years, she thought it had been over.

"Agent Meltzer?" McKinley's voice brings her back to reality and she takes a shaky breath, desperate to maintain composure.

"Yes?"

"You alright?"

She scoffed. "Of course," she replied. "This has just been a hard one."

"So, what do you think happened?"

"I think they were driving," she started. "I think they were driving across the bridge when someone crashed down, broke the sunroof, and killed the parents." Cindy took another breath. "From there, the suspect grabbed June. She was gripping onto her seat, though. She held on for dear life to the point her nails ripped off."

"Who do you think did it?" McKinley asked. "One of them super powered freaks?"

"I don't know."

Boy, was that a lie.

Cindy began to make her way up the hill, back to her car. "Thank you for calling me, Sarge."

"Does it fit with your case?"

"Oh, yes. Yes it does." She went into her pocket and grabbed her keys. "I have some paperwork to file, but if anymore evidence pops up, make sure to give me a call."

"Will do, agent. Take care."

"You too, Sarge."

* * *

Her living room was a mess. The whole house looked as if a bomb went off, but her living room got the worse of it. Papers, manila folders, newsprint clippings, and photographs littered her coffee table. Cindy, with her mug of cocoa in hand, sighed and placed it down on the lamp table instead. She really had to organize her work better.

Garfield brushes up against her leg before jumping on the couch to lay beside her. She reached over and petted the orange tabby. "Sorry I was home late, buddy," she murmured. "There was another incident that I had to go check out."

Garfield blinks lazily at her.

"I'm worried. This is the third disappearance this weekend and it's all coming from the shores." She frowned. "It's happening again, and I thought it was over. As much as I try to deny it, I know there's only one explanation. Rapture."

He meows.

"Yeah, I know, you don't give a shit," she chuckled. "I just need someone to talk to."

Garfield flicked his tail and stuck his tongue out.

Cindy picked up the remote and turned on her television. "Must be nice being a cat- not being able to give a shit about anything. I mean, you do nothing all day while I have to work my ass off." She flicked through the channels. "Sure they're talking about the Banks family right now," she said as she switched to Channel 6.

Sure enough, they were. A beautiful, blonde reporter stood outside of Morey's Pier, addressing the camera with a fake smile on her face that would've been wiped off if she saw what was in the car last night. "We're here outside of Morey's Pier in Wildwood, New Jersey, where what was supposed to be a fun night on the boardwalk turned into a nightmare for the Banks family. Thirty-five-year-olds David and Kiera Banks from Philadelphia were found dead in their car by the bridge with fourth-degree burns, their five-year-old daughter June is missing."

The reporter continued on. "Coast Guard is currently on the lookout, but so far haven't found anything. But, that's not the only news that's happened here tonight." The camera turned to two teenage boys, both with eyes like saucers. "Fifteen-year-olds Peter Parker and Ned Leeds from Queens, New York, were out having the time of their life on the boardwalk last night when they saw a monster thought to be just a part of internet lore until seeing a surge in popularity and supposed sightings this summer. The Mariner." She held her microphone out to the larger boy. "You want to tell us what happened?"

He glanced around the pier, swallowing nervously. "W-We were out… We kinda stopped to take a break because Peter got wet on a water ride, and it kinda looked like he peed himself-"

The other teenager, presumably Peter, lightly elbows his arm. "Dude!"

"So, like, we were drying him off, and we were looking out at the ocean," he mumbles, and the microphone is shoved further into his face. "But, like we couldn't see anything because it was night, but we were hoping we'd see some dolphins, and we saw this thing-person running into the ocean, and we think it was the Mariner, and it was scary, yeah." The kid rambles for a moment before grinning, a bead of sweat drips down his forehead. "Hi, mom."

The reporter rolls her eyes as Peter begins to speak. "We were just looking at dolphins." Of course, the first thing he'd do is save his dignity. "It was a person. The thing we saw running into the water was a person, I think." He held his arm up over his head. "It was so tall-"

"Like Slenderman!" his friend chimes in. "Except not!"

"Yeah, yeah, exactly!" Peter cried. "Had to be over six feet tall, with long, creepy limbs, and it was glowing red!"

"What do you mean by it glowing red?" the reporter asked.

"It was wearing a helmet; kinda looked like an old, deep-sea diver, but its porthole was glowing red!"

"Now, you took a picture of this, so we're going to go pull it up here." The screen shifted to a picture of Peter and his friend at a Halloween store dressed up as Captain America and Iron Man, ready to duke it out. "Well, that's not what we're looking for…"

"Oh God, are you on my Instagram?"

Finally, an extremely blurred photo popped up on screen; a dark blob with a red dot near the water. The reporter chuckled. "It's very hard to make out. I kind of don't know what I'm looking at here…"

"That's the Mariner!" the other boy said. "That's what we saw."

"I'm not the best at taking photos."

"You know, you're not the only one who saw this creature. People all the way down in Florida have reported seeing this exact same thing, have provided nearly the same quality as your picture for evidence, or are found just to be teenagers in costume. Seems whenever a child goes missing, there's a so-called 'sighting', but we've got no solid proof of it's existence. I would say there's more evidence of it not being real."

Peter's brows furrow. "Are you saying we're making this up? Because we know what we saw, and that thing was definitely the real deal."

"I'm just saying it's suspicious, that's all." The reporter suddenly went back into her fake grin. "Alright, we're going to cut back to the weather. Thank you so much for your time, say goodbye, boys!" The larger boy waved at the camera while Peter pouted, mad as hell.

"Hi mom!"

Cindy shut off the T.V. and ran a hand through her short, graying blonde hair. This confirmed it, then. That red orb, the diving suit, the lanky, skeletal features, it was all coming back to her. She could remember seeing them peer over her when she was six-years-old, sleeping in bed at her parent's shore house in Long Island. Their long, petite hands snatching her out of bed, covering her mouth before she could let out a scream.

Oh God, it was happening again.

The phone rings. She stumbles over to the kitchen, nearly tripping over her own feet, and picks it up. "Hello?" She cringed at her voice cracking.

"Yes, is this Cindy Meltzer?" a thick German voice comes on the line.

Cindy frowned. "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

"You may not remember me, but I certainly remember you." There's a harsh cough. "The last time I saw you, you were but a Little One."

This voice… Cindy had heard it before once a lifetime ago. It took a minute, but then it hit her. "Tenenbaum?" she gasped.

"Ah, so you do remember me after all."

"It's been fifty years since I've seen you. I had no idea you were alive," Cindy said.

The doctor chuckled. "Sometimes, I wonder how I am myself." Her tone went grim. "I suppose you know why I called you, correct?"

"Is this about what I think it is?"

"The missing Little Ones? You are working on the case, yes?"

Cindy's brows furrowed. "How do you know about my case?"

"Just as I thought. You are." Cindy could hear the shuffling of feet. "Given the personal connection to it, I assumed you had taken the case as one last hurrah before you retired. You are not exactly a spring chicken, Ms. Meltzer."

"Neither are you," she scoffed. "You got to be in your eighties now-"

"I'm ninety-three."

Cindy's eyes widened. "Damn. Congratulations."

"Someone is making new Little Ones, continuing my sins. After fifty years, I thought it was over… I-I thought no more children would suffer." Tenenbaum sounded on the verge of tears. "I wish I hadn't lived to see it. So many good people I have met left before me. I suppose this is a punishment."

"Does this nightmare ever end?" Cindy asked.

"Not until Rapture is destroyed, I am afraid not. You have seen the news, yes?"

"Photos of those damn monsters are hitting social media. I'm going to go into the hashtag on Twitter later and check it out."

Tenenbaum sighed. "A Big Sister. The ones back in Rapture would be older than you at this point, so they must be new ones. Missing teenage girls, perhaps? This is a mess. One big mess." The elderly woman's no doubt tapping her foot. She always did that when she got nervous, which down in Rapture, was often. "I would go back down to rescue them, but I am too old- too weak to protect them. We had barely gotten out alive before."

"Do you want me to go down? I will."

"You may be good with a gun, Agent Meltzer, but the Splicers will easily overpower you. You will need a whole team down there."

Cindy scoffed. "What, like the Avengers?"

There's silence.

"Please tell me you're not serious here."

"SHIELD is working for the UN now and I doubt they will show any interest in it," Tenenbaum began. "I do not like Tony Stark; he reminds me of men like Ryan and Sinclair, but if he finds out about Rapture, I know he will intervene." She takes a breath. "I have kept Rapture a secret for so long. The only ones who believe it are conspiracy nuts, it is possible to get him to believe."

"How?"

"I live up near Hoboken. It isn't too much of a drive for you, so I hope you can come up to my house tomorrow. I will explain my plan then."

"Wait, what kind of plan are we talking about here-"

And she hung up.

Fantastic.

* * *

"Can you believe them? They asked to report anything weird and we did, so what do they do? They make fun of us!"

"Look on the bright side, Pete. Your Instagram is, like, blowing up right now. You got so many new followers!"

"Most of them are porn bots, Ned."

"They're still followers, though."

Peter Parker took a bite of one of his fries. This summer had been exceptionally slow, in fact probably the slowest one yet; which shouldn't have been possible given that he was Spider-Man. Aunt May was coming around to his superhero identity. Okay, he was grounded for a good month after she found out, and she threatened to murder Mr. Stark, but she was coming around. She even let him go out to fight crime on school nights and packed snacks for him with little supportive notes! He had to be back at the apartment by nine on week days and eleven on weekends, but he wasn't going to complain. Aunt May would only take his suit if his grades slipped again, and Peter wasn't going to let that happen. In fact, he was doing even better than ever. Final report card was all A+'s! The school just thought he was going through a rough time as all teenagers did.

Spider-Man did nothing but combat the same petty thieves, rowdy gang-members, and questionable men lurking about in alley ways. He had wanted this, he told Mr. Stark after being offered to join the Avengers, and he was starting to regret his decision. At the time, he had just been so drained from Toomes that he wanted to slow down, but he had forgotten how banal working on the streets could be. After being stuck in Queens for so long, that taste of something more at Leipzig, D.C., and Coney Island gave Peter an itch that helping old ladies across the street couldn't.

But, the last time he tried to do more, it backfired epically, and he'd like to keep his distance from Mr. Stark for the time being. Ned couldn't fathom it. "You got offered to be in the greatest superhero team on Earth, and you turn it down?" he said after choking on his drink when Peter had broken the news to him. He thankfully understood, though. The little guys needed someone fighting for them, and no matter how much Peter earned for duking it out against super-villains, they needed him.

Also, their hero-worship of Mr. Stark was dampened pretty significantly. What did the older man see of him? Was he a mentor, or was he using him for his own gain? After never talking to him for months after Leipzig, giving him such vague advice and Happy never answering his calls or texts, Peter didn't know what to think. Then, he didn't listen to him and took his suit, forced him to fight Vulture alone and then the building came down and…

Would Mr. Stark have even cared if he died that night?

"Peter?" Ned pokes his arm, his brows furrowed in concern. "Peter, you alright, dude?"

He nodded shakily. "Y-Yeah, I-I'm fine."

"No, you're not," Ned says, taking a sip of his soda. Of course, he's not convinced. They've been best friends since kindergarten and he could read him better than anyone besides Aunt May. He was a master at knowing when Peter was full of bullshit.

"It's nothing, don't worry about it."

The Filipino boy's mouth turned into a thin, straight line. "You're thinking about it again, aren't you?"

"What?"

"When Toomes dropped the building on you."

Peter's breath hitched and he looked around the tiny pizzeria they were currently at, hoping no one else heard. "N-No! Ned, you gotta keep quiet about this!"

"Sorry, sorry, I got a big, fat mouth, but…" Ned stared down at his slice of pizza with a frown. "You've been, like, zoning out lately- all jittery. Just not being you, y'know?"

"Have you seen me? I'm anxiety personified."

"Dude, you freaked out last night on the Ghost Ship ride. They had to escort you out when you got in the claustrophobia room."

"So?" Peter snapped. "It was tight in there, alright?"

"You loved the Ghost Ship before."

Peter played with his food, his eyes never meeting his best friend. Ned didn't deserve this. He didn't deserve to be stuck with a complete mess like him for a friend. Didn't deserve to act as his therapist or face suspension for him or risk his life for him. Ned should've had cooler friends; ones who didn't use him as an emotional crutch and give him premature gray hairs.

"I-I just want to forget about it. I want it to stop scaring me, but I can't." he finally mutters.

Ned puts his hand, which is pretty damn greasy from his pizza, on the other's shoulder. "You need to talk to someone about it. Like, an actual adult, though, because this is something I can't fix."

"Like who?" he asked. "A shrink? Because if they find out I'm Spider-Man they could leak it out and if I tell Aunt May she'll have a heart attack-"

"I'm pretty sure there are laws against that," Ned interrupted before pausing. "Sorry. What about Mr. Stark?"

"You think he'll care?" Peter scoffed.

He shrugged. "I don't know maybe?"" Ned took a bite of his pizza. "Listen, I've found out that so many of the people I've liked and admired have been total assholes. JonTron? Can't watch his videos anymore-"

"Oh, yeah."

"Michael Jordan? I don't want to believe the stories because I fucking love Space Jam," he continued with a mouth full of food. "After everything Tony Stark did to you, all signs point to him being a douche-bag, but, like, I don't want to accept he is, you know?" Ned frowned. "Everyone else on the decathlon team was Team Cap and I stood by him even when they mocked me for it. I can't let MJ have the last laugh here."

Peter sighed. "Maybe I'll give Happy a call later. At least he answers my texts, like, twice a week."

"Can you believe we saw the Mariner last night?" Ned asked after taking a sip of his soda. He must have wanted to change the subject; hope to get Peter's mind off of Stark drama. He always did have a bad habit of hyper-focusing on his troubles.

"Too bad we couldn't have gotten a good enough photo. Maybe then those news guys would have believed us."

"Ignore them!" he exclaimed, slamming his hand down on the table and getting some stares. "We saw the Mariner with our own two eyes! I thought it was just a creepypasta, but we saw him! Twitter was right!"

"Listen, with the things I've seen, anything is possible," Peter replied.

"He was so tall!" Ned held his arms out. "He was, like, seven foot!" He nearly whacked a waiter. "Oh, sorry!" he apologized, ignoring the waiter's glare.

Peter nibbled on another fry. "Some of those 'sightings', though are definitely fake. I've seen so many where they're, like, short and you can tell it's a cosplay. The light in their helmet is red, not green. Anything for retweets, I guess."

"But, it's so creepy because whenever someone claims they see them, a little girl disappears, and what happened? This couple got murdered and their kid is gone! Just like the original story!" Ned put a hand on his chest. "We saw that around the time they died. I am shook."

"It could be like the killer clown thing again." Peter hummed to himself and put a hand to his chin. "One guy is murdered by a clown, and the next thing you know, everyone and their mother 'bumps' into one. If the Mariner is kidnapping these girls and this is real, no one's going to believe it with all this fake evidence." He scowled. "Like that news lady. Someone needs to investigate this."

Ned's eyes lit up. "Like Spider-Man?"

"O-Oh, I don't know, dude. This might be a little too big for Spider-Man," Peter said, his voice cracking slightly.

"You took down the Vulture-"

He hushed the other. "Dude! The Vulture was an arms dealer," he whispered, "not a creepy monster who lives in the ocean! I don't have a rebreather in my suit!"

"Maybe call Tony?"

"What can he do? Everyone believes it's a hoax and he might, like, need the UN's permission or something to investigate, and they'd all think we're scared kids. Besides, why would he care? It's not an alien invasion or anything, just a bunch of missing girls and a creepypasta like Slender-Man. Didn't seem to care too much about Toomes... said it was below his pay grade..."

Ned's face fell. "T-They're little kids, though. Everyone cares about little kids, right?"

"I do. And if I could, I would find them and bring them home, but I-I don't know where this thing is coming from and what its motives are."

"Maybe so, but these occurrences have a pattern to it." Ned pulled out his phone and went to the Twitter app. "See, the last disappearance was in Ocean City, Maryland on Sunday, and June went missing on Tuesday. The Mariner, well, I think it's the Mariner, was spotted in Ocean City that same night, just as we spotted it the night of the murder!"

Peter's brows furrowed. "They're hitting every other day. Today's Wednesday, so that means tomorrow night…"

"Another girl is going to go missing." The other boy continued to scroll down his feed. "The question is where, though?"

"The first sighting and kidnapping were at Florida, right?"

"Yeah, Miami."

"And then they moved up to Georgia, Maryland, Delaware, New Jersey…" Peter's eyes widened. "New York! They're hitting New York tomorrow night!"

Ned took a shaky breath. "Oh, thank God my uncle's taking us home today," he murmured.

"Now, if I was going to kidnap a little girl, where would I go?"

"You might want to lower your volume," Ned said, noticing a ginger couple in another booth staring them down intently. "I don't want to have the police on us-"

"Answer the question!"

"Well, I guess i-if I was going to kidnap a child, which I would never do, I would go to Coney Island. It's an amusement park, there are tons of kids there."

"Exactly!" Peter cried. "Okay, okay, maybe Spider-Man can do this after all."

"Think of the children!"

"Yeah, I got to think of the children!"

They high-fived. "You got this!" Ned grinned from ear to ear. "You got this! Watch out Mariner, Spider-Man's going to fuck your shit up."

"You mean, we're going to fuck them up. This wouldn't be possible without my guy in the chair!" Peter jokingly punched his shoulders. "You're a genius, you know that?"

"Oh, stop it!"

"You are, you really are!"

"You're making me blush!"

"It's the truth. I'm speaking the truth-"

They stop their horseplay when they see the waiter standing over them, his eyes narrowed and with an expression that he was completely done with life entirely. The older Italian man sighed as he handed them the check. "Don't have to worry about your bill, boys. It's already been paid for."

Ned gasped. "Paid? By who?"

"Maybe it's your uncle-"

"Those two over there decided to foot the bill, for whatever reason." The waiter pointed over to the ginger couple that had been gawking at them before. "Should thank them."

"Holy shit," Ned beamed. "That was really nice of them!"

"Yeah, they didn't have to do that. We would have paid," Peter said as the two stood up, making their way over to the booth. There were so many people crammed in the pizzeria that they had to dodge several waiters and nearly knocked over some poor woman's drink, but they eventually made it over without accidentally causing a scene. When they could finally get a good look at the Good Samaritans, though, they did a double take.

They looked like something out of the pictures in their history textbook: the man wore an old fashioned suit with his neatly coiffed hair, and she had on a similar outfit with a skirt, shirtwaist, and vest. Her hair was up in a perfect bun, which should have been impossible given how ungodly it was. Seriously, how were they not drenched? Peter only had on shorts and a t-shirt and he was dying. They looked far too fancy to be eating at a pizza joint.

Both the man and woman blinked up at the teenagers with a dull, bored expression; as if they had been here before or were too good for this place. And, yeah, maybe they were. Finally, the woman speaks, her British accent making Peter immediately think of the Queen. "They still haven't said anything."

"Don't worry, they will... eventually."

"I suppose so."

Oh, this was awkward.

Thankfully, Ned stepped forward. "The waiter said you paid for our food…" He twiddled his thumbs anxiously. "T-That was really nice of you guys. Y-You didn't have to do that, but you did, and it made our day!"

The woman scoffs. "I did not pay for your food. My brother did. I see no point in paying."

Ned's smile faltered. "Oh."

"Now, my dear sister, there is always a point in paying forward," the man replied to his twin.

"And what is that?"

"Because they will pay me back."

Ned and Peter glanced at each other.

"Pay you back?" the lady asked quizzically. "Why, there's no point in the good deed then when you are simply getting your money back."

He shook his head. "There is a point. I get the satisfaction of being paid back tenfold." The gentleman watched as Peter dug out his wallet. "Put it away."

"You wanted me to pay you back, though."

"Yes, but not yet. You are both indebted to me, but I will not be satisfied with instant gratification and barely anything in return."

The woman rolled her eyes. "Instant gratification might be the only possible gratification you will get, brother. Who is to say they will be alive to even return the favor."

Ned's lips were pursed. "What?"

"I suppose I will have to take the chance, something you seem to have a problem with."

"There is a difference between taking a chance, and being a fool," she replied. "I choose not to be a fool."

"Am I a fool?"

"You are acting like one"

"Then, is it not fair for me to say that you are also a fool?"

"Everyone is a fool but yourself."

Ned coughed into his fist and grabbed Peter's arm. "Uh, so thank you for paying for our food, and your costumes are really cool, but we're going to go now-"

"Wait!" the gentleman called, causing them to halt. "May we ask you a quick question?"

"Sure?" the teenage boys said in unison.

"Heads-"

"Or tails," the woman finished, tossing a coin to Peter.

Ned answered immediately with "duh, tails," while it took the other a while to come up with an answer. Finally, he exhaled and flipped the quarter, watching it land on the table. "Heads."

The man sighed while the woman chuckled. "Tails. Do not be a sore loser, Robert."

"I am not."

"If anyone has the right to be a sore loser it's me," his sister said. "I never find this as rewarding as I like it to be."

"Chin up, dear sister, there's always next time," he replied as the two friends ran out of the pizzeria, into the busy crowds of the boardwalk.

Ned shoved his hands in the pockets of his shorts, glancing back inside as he tried to get one last look at the couple. "Those guys were weird as hell. Sick cosplay, though."

"Ned, hey, I can't complain. They paid for our food."

"That is new."

"What dear, Rosalind?"

"They think of us as odd. Better than the last time, I suppose."

Robert dabbed on his pizza with a napkin. "I do quite like this Peter Parker boy." He picked it up, holding it away from his face with a cringe. "His friend Ned seems to be a nice fit for him. Children need companions."

"We had no friends growing up and we came out perfectly adjusted adults," Rosalind said as she stirred her soda. "Of course, it is hard being a teenager today. The joys of youth." She cocked her head to the side, raising a brow when Robert nearly gagged. "Is there something wrong with your food?"

He dropped the slice; it landed on the plate with squelch, that turned his pale complexion green. "Too greasy."

"I think it's perfect." She took a bite of her own pizza. "In fact, I don't think it's greasy enough."

"You were complaining about the pizza last time."

"Yes, last time. We shall always get pizza, no matter how much I tire of it at this point it is a constant, but the state of which I will receive it is the variable."

"Peter Parker is a constant," Robert began, "but he is also a variable."

She scoffed. "For someone called Spider-Man, he is not much of a spider or man. At least the others had the latter going for them."

"The last Peter pelvic thrusted in the doorway of a tailor shop."

"You're right, brother, but his piano and dance skills were sublime. I think you're just jealous he played better than you." Rosalind winked.

He laughed. "Oh, believe me, I am not jealous of him. I felt more pity… and second-hand embarrassment whenever I looked at him."

"Death was mercy."

"I think everything will work out this time, Rosalind."

"You said that before."

"I said that before Peter made a fool of himself in that godforsaken club. No wonder things ended how they did-"

"For the best?"

"In death and destruction," Robert finished, slightly irritated.

Rosalind rolled her eyes. "Young Peter is determined to do what's right no matter how much danger is thrown at him, absolutely foolish. It will bring his premature end. And the girl? Who is to say we will not be dealing with an antichrist instead of a messiah."

"We will just have to wait and see."

"I am bored of waiting. Waiting has caused us nothing but irritation."

"Patience is a virtue, my dear sister."

"A virtue when you know there is a chance of success. There is no chance of success after knowing you have failed so many times."

He wiped his hands with the napkin. "Perhaps, we should debate this over mini-golf."

"You always win."

"Well, if you're going to be a sore loser about this, perhaps we can continue sitting here all day."

"I am not a sore loser, I am a sore winner," Rosalind replied.

"And yet I am also the sore loser and winner."

There's a scream from outside and they both turn their heads. "Ah, there are the gulls."

"It was inevitable for Peter to cross paths with them eventually."

"One of the few things that never gets old, brother."


	2. Reunion

The dining room is quiet, in fact, far too quiet for Tony Stark's liking. There are about seven empty chairs which should have been filled, and there's an awkward space between everyone who actually decided to show up for dinner tonight. They were having an all-American barbecue; emphasis on were because Vision nearly burnt the whole goddamn place down. Rhodey had to order from Five Guys real quick while Pepper had to comfort the android. Poor bastard, he tried.

Steve had been in charge of the grill in the past, and boy did that guy know how to flip a mean burger. The shit Vision made almost had him tempted to pull out that old cell phone. Almost.

He'd have to use it at some point, and as much as he dreaded having to confront Steve again and all that unresolved tension from Siberia, Tony would suck it up for the fate of the world. Aliens don't give a shit about your personal conflicts.

Now that he had the time to cool off, Tony understood. He didn't like it, and it stung that Steve never told him about his parents, but he understood. What if Rhodey was in that position? Not in control of his body, used as a weapon for decades, and forced to kill innocents. How can you believe your best friend brutally murdered someone? How do you react seeing it on tape? Hell, how do you tell their kid what happened? "Hey, sorry, my buddy may have strangled your mom to death and bashed your old man's face in."

If he had lost everything, everyone he had ever cared about in an ever changing world that Tony could barely keep up in already, he would have moved heaven and earth for Rhodey. It was just a damn shame it all ended how it did. He should have never… he should have stopped himself…

He was going to do it. He would've killed him. And then what would've happened? Would it have felt good to stare down at the corpse of a tortured, broken man who wasn't in control of his action, knowing that he became the exact thing everyone thought Bucky was: a murderer. To see Steve lose the last of his 'family', to force him to watch Tony deliver the final blow in an execution… It wouldn't have brought them back.

They were never coming back.

Siberia brought out a side of him he didn't want to see again. And the worst part was, it seemed Bucky wanted to die. That hopeless look in his piercing blue eyes, begging him to end his hell of over seventy years, it kept Tony up at night. For the Winter Soldier, the only way he could redeem himself was through his death. His own mind turns against him with just a simple phrase. Now, that was a poor bastard.

"Hey, I know you're pissed about the burgers, but Five Guys is quality food and if you're not going to eat yours, I will." Rhodey's voice snaps him out of his thoughts and he realizes he has a death grip on a very greasy bun. His oldest friend raises a brow. "You okay, Tony?" he asks.

"Yeah, yeah, I'm fine." Tony takes a bite of his burger with an eye roll. "Though, your definition of quality food is a lot different than mine. Jesus, this is a heart attack wrapped up in a bun. You want me to drop dead, Rhodes?"

Rhodey reached over and stole some of his fries. "You're funny. You're not objecting to eating it, though. Clearly, you enjoy it. Unless, of course, you want to give it to me."

"No thanks" Tony replied with a smirk. "None of this would have happened if someone kept Vision from the damn grill." He paused when he saw a look of hurt come across the android's face. "No offense, buddy."

"It's fine. I understand." Vision stares off at the wall, playing with his fries. He doesn't have to eat unlike the rest of them, and he only just started coming to dinner again, but he did enjoy cooking. Wanda used to help him in the kitchen…

They all knew he missed her. God, it was so obvious that he was hopelessly in love with the girl. Wanda wasn't a fan of Tony that much; she had just been starting to come around when the Sokovia Accords came around, but she and Vision were nearly attached to the hip. Wherever she went, he followed like a lovesick puppy. They were equals: young and inexperienced with powers that were not only new to them but drew fear. She helped the android adjust in society and gave him humanity, and in return he validated hers.

Honestly, a better love story than Twilight, but it ended like a Shakespearian tragedy. She was gone. Last Tony had heard from some 'sources', Wanda spent her days doing aid work in her home country, Sokovia. When not doing missions with the Avengers, Vision spent most of his time sitting in her room, moping about the compound, and watching TV. Yeah, Tony knew about all the shitty rom-com's he watched; he could see his Netflix history. Hey, if he could get some more people into the Avengers, perhaps he wouldn't be so lonely and get over this crush. You know, make friends, use those social skills he practiced on with Wanda.

Pepper comes around the corner with her own plate full of food and gives the two men the stink eye. "Ignore them, Vis," she said, putting her free hand on the android's shoulder. "You tried. And, hey, you don't get better at something until you try."

"Thank you, Ms. Potts," Vision frowned, still looking as if someone kicked a puppy right in front of him. Jesus, Tony would have to schedule play dates for the guy.

She sits down in one of the many empty seats beside Tony. "For the last time, call me Pepper, please."

"My apologies."

Then, the blonde turns her attention to Tony, her bright blue eyes never leaving his dark brown ones. "So," she began as she took a bite of her salad, "how is Peter?"

He raised a brow. "What do you mean, how's Peter? The kid's fine."

"Alright, I just haven't heard from him since the press conference. You know, the one where he was supposed to join the team?"

"And we turned it into a lovely proposal," Tony replied, motioning to the ring on her finger.

She rolled her eyes. "You always have to make everything a spectacle, Tony Stark." Of course, she fought back a smile when he leaned over to give her a kiss on the cheek. "Stop, you have grease on your face!" Pepper laughed, throwing some napkins at him.

Rhodey pretends to gag while Vision slumps forward, even more depressed.

"Hey, robot son," Tony frowned, "what's going on, buddy?"

"Nothing, Mr. Stark."

Damn, it must have been serious if being called 'son' didn't make him a flustered mess. Everything seemed to make the android sputter and blush like a schoolgirl. Now, everyone's eyeing him.

"Vis, you can tell us what's up," Rhodey says, lightly nudging the other's shoulder. "We're like family."

He sighed before glancing up from his plate and right at Tony. "I find myself very lonely anymore. Devoid of any companionship. Many times, Ms. Potts… Pepper is away working, and Rhodes is not always in the compound, and you are busy in your lab and I do not wish to intrude…"

It breaks Tony's heart seeing him so upset. It's like when your kid has a birthday party and no one comes. You'll pay for them to just come along and be nice, but deep down, they don't care about him. The other employees at the compound: Hill, Cho, Happy? They had better things to do than hang out with a socially awkward robot.

Before the team split, Wanda was probably the only true friend he had.

"You know, you can come to my lab anytime," Tony smiles. "Listen, it sucks being alone, but I promise you, it's going to get better soon."

"Yeah," Rhodey interjects. "Soon this table will be full of new faces. You'll never be alone." He pauses when Vision cups his chin and stares off into the distance. "If you're ever feeling down, you can always give me a call."

"I hate how I can feel like a human, but yet struggle to communicate like one. I say things, and do things, but they just come out wrong, and in the end I push people away." By people, he's definitely talking about her.

Pepper put a hand to her chest. "This is all still new to you, Vis. You're getting better, though." She elbows Tony. "Isn't he getting better, Tony?" she hisses.

"O-Oh, yeah, of course." He only scared off one small child this month. Note, don't take androids to parks, they creep toddlers out.

Pepper takes a bite of her salad. "Just because Peter isn't an Avenger doesn't mean he can't stop by once in awhile. He still needs training."

Tony shrugged, earning himself a scowl from both Rhodey and his fiancée. "I don't know," he begins. "I'm thinking of giving the kid some space for now; letting him do his own thing, only stepping in if he screws up-"

Rhodey shakes his head while giving him the classic 'I'm disappointed in you' expression that was natural to military men. God, Steve always had the same face. "You know, when you brought the kid over to Leipzig, I told you that by inviting him, you needed to be involved. You couldn't just give him the suit and send him on his way."

Pepper nodded. "He worships the ground you walk on," she added, making Tony feel a pang of guilt. He hadn't been the most active mentor, but he didn't want to be breathing down the kid's neck. With the suit, he had everything he needed, and Happy was probably checking up on him. Probably…

"What do you want me to do?" Tony asked, exasperated. "Take the kid out to baseball games? Stop by and see his school plays? Go to his decathlon tournaments?"

Rhodey and Pepper glanced at each other before nodding in agreement. "Yeah," Rhodey replied, "yeah, that would be nice."

"Come on, I'm not the kid's dad!"

"He doesn't have one, remember? You're the only male role model he's got." It's the way Pepper says it that feels like a knife is in his heart, and Tony felt it before. Doesn't help that she puts her hand on his and stares up at him with those gorgeous eyes of hers. "It'd mean the world to him if you took some time out of your schedule and hung out with him."

He ran a hand through his hair. "I guess I'll try to do something with him after the Veteran's Auction-"

"I don't have a problem with him going." Rhodey quirked a brow. "Maybe, he can keep your dumbass from buying stupid shit you'll never use and regret later. I can't seem to get to you."

"Come on, I don't know what fifteen-year old that thinks that going to a dinner auction is the definition of fun."

"I know if a fifteen-year-old was invited by his personal hero and had a love of Star Wars, he'd have a blast," Rhodey replied. "The theme is sci-fi; it's full of old antique and weird items, maybe some actual costumes and stuff from the set of Star Wars. He'd love that shit."

"Besides, he would get a free dinner," Vision interjected. "Most people love free dinners."

Pepper gasped. "Oh, you could get him something, Tony! Isn't his birthday coming up?"

"Alright, alright," Tony threw his hands up in defeat. "I'll give him a call tonight. I don't think he'll want to go, though."

"I think he'd love to go, and if you don't call him, I'm going to kick your ass," Pepper said coolly.

Shit, she was definitely serious. He could face Ultron, the Chitauri, but a pissed off Pepper had him shake in his shoes. He'd like to avoid an ass kicking, thank you.

* * *

Brigid Tenenbaum lived in an old, gray slightly run down Victorian home not too far out of the city. The second Cindy stepped out of her car, she noticed the perfectly mowed lawn, adorable little garden, an old swing set, and the little hands that were imprinted on the stepping stones leading up to her porch. It was just as how she remembered as a child…

" _You can take off your shoes at the door," Mama Tenenbaum says, taking one of the girl's coats to hang on the rack. She tucks a loose strand of gray hair behind her ear. "I believe I have some snacks that are still good in the cabinets if you are hungry." She walked over to the television and handed Cindy the remote. "You children can watch television or play outside."_

 _Most of the girls stand still, their eyes never leaving her even as she leaves for the kitchen. Cindy plays with the hem of her new dress. The second they had gotten to shore, Tenenbaum had been waiting for them with a suitcase full of new clothes and toys. Apparently, they were from a friend._

 _All Cindy wanted to do was go home to Mommy. But, if Mommy thought she was dead, did it mean she had forgotten about her? What if she had gotten a new husband and baby? Her little mind raced with the possible scenarios. Daddy was gone. Daddy wouldn't be there for her anymore._

 _She wished he was here. He always knew how to make her feel better. He'd run a hand through her hair, hold her in his strong arms, and whisper soothing words into her ear. Maybe, if she imagined he was here, she'd feel better._

 _It didn't work._

 _Cindy's eyes stung the second she thought about his voice, the whole living room became blurred. The other girls were off doing their own thing, playing outside or exploring the house. They had a mommy or daddy. Well, most of them did. Mama Tenenbaum said she was going to get the orphans new parents._

 _She couldn't get a new daddy. She didn't want a new daddy._

" _Are you alright?" Standing in the doorway, munching on some graham crackers, was the princess. Well, that's what most of the other girls called her. Her real name was Eleanor Lamb. She didn't look like much of a princess with that grimy, smelly Big Sister suit on. Back when the world was perfect before, that fake daddy killed her real daddy, it looked like a beautiful ball gown; something that Cinderella would wear._

 _Cindy wiped her nose, taking a shuddering breath. "I'm okay," she hiccupped._

 _The older girl's piercing blue eyes are full of concern. "You don't sound okay," she replied, moving to sit on the couch._

" _I-I just miss my dad." Her lip quivered and it came out as a sob. "I miss him so much and this is all my fault-"_

" _None of this was your fault, Cindy," Eleanor gently scolded. "Don't think like that. Your father wouldn't want you to be beating yourself up."_

 _Daddy would be so upset to know if she was sad. He always hated to see her cry; he'd have done anything to make her feel better. The little girl nodded shakily. "Y-Yeah, he wouldn't." She stared up at Eleanor. "It doesn't get any easier, does it?"_

" _What?" Eleanor asked, raising a brow._

" _Losing the ones you care about. Letting go of that blame."_

 _The teenage girl was taken aback before her gaze fell to the carpet. "No, it doesn't," she replied solemnly. "I suppose the most we can do is live for them. That's what they would want."_

" _Do you miss him?" Cindy murmured._

" _Yes. Not a single day goes by where I don't think about him." Eleanor tapped her head with a finger. "I have his memories, his spirits, his drives, but it's not the same when he's not here by my side. I wish I could bring him back again, but he's gone."_

 _Cindy hopped on the cushion beside her. "When I grow up, I want to help people like my Daddy did. Maybe, stop other little girls from becoming like me." She paused. "That's what Daddy would want. He always said I was smart."_

" _You are wise beyond your years, Ms. Meltzer."_

 _A tiny smile formed on her lips and she wiped away the last of her tears. "What are you going to do? Are you going to live with Mama Tenenbaum or with her friend? She said he has other girls your age, so you can make friends and go to school!"_

 _Her shoulder's slumped forward. "I'm actually… I'm leaving."_

 _Cindy's large eyes become saucers. "W-What?" she stammered._

" _I'm leaving," Eleanor states again._

" _Why?"_

" _This world is not ready for me, and I am not ready for it." She stands up, towering over the seven-year-old, and makes her way to the window. "You grew up on the surface, you were once a normal little girl, and you still are, but me? I will never fit in."_

 _Cindy runs over to her. "That's not true! You can be normal!"_

" _I can shoot fireballs out of my fingertips," Eleanor frowned. "Most girls can't do that."_

 _Cindy stomped her foot. "Most girls don't drink the blood of dead people, but here we are!"_

" _I am a lost cause, but the people here are not." The teenager stared at the skyline with a sense of longing. "That city… New York… it draws me in, and for some reason, I just cannot escape."_

" _Are you a superhero?" Cindy whispered. "Like Captain America?"_

 _Eleanor grabbed her helmet off of the coffee table and put it on, it's porthole glowing green. "I suppose I am." She turned to the seven-year old. "Tell Mama Tenenbaum I'm sorry, and that I will never forget what she's done for me."_

" _You can't just leave now!"_

" _I have to. It'll be easier to not have to face the other girls and Mama Tenenbaum. Good luck, Cindy Meltzer, and good bye."_

 _She wrapped her legs around the other girl's legs just as she disappeared into a puff of purple smoke. Cindy cried out and fell flat on her face. She rubbed her nose as she glanced around the now empty living room. She was gone. Just like that, Eleanor Lamb literally vanished into thin air, never to be seen again._

 _The sound of footsteps made Cindy turn her head back to the kitchen. "Cindy? Eleanor?" Mama Tenenbaum called. "What was that? Is everything alright?"_

" _Yes, Mama Tenenbaum!"_

Cindy closed her eyes and took a deep breath. It had been over fifty years since that day, nearly half a century. Was Eleanor still alive? Did her dream of becoming a vigilante work out for her? Did she decide to retire out and raise a family? Or did she…

Cindy didn't want to think about the worst that could have befallen on the girl. She liked to believe Eleanor had her happy ending, no matter what it was, though all things pointed otherwise. How could a fifteen-year-old girl possibly survive alone in New York City?

Before she can ring the doorbell, the front door slowly opens and standing there is Brigid Tenenbaum herself. Cindy's breath hitches at the sight of the old woman: the way she hunches over her cane, her once long, gray hair now short as can be and white as snow, her wrinkled face. Cindy had remembered a strong, intimidating protector, not someone so delicate. Now, she was towering over the doctor. The roles had reversed.

"Are you going to say something, or are we just going to stare at each other?" Tenenbaum finally asked, breaking the silence.

Cindy coughed into her fist. "Ah, yes, sorry." She stared the elderly woman down from top to bottom. "You're living out on your own?"

"Just because I am old does not make me an invalid," Tenenbaum scoffed, motioning the FBI agent inside. "I can handle myself just fine."

"You've had this house for fifty-years." Cindy picked up an old picture frame and traced her finger on the black and white photo of beaming little girls. "How many children have walked through these doors?"

"Too many."

There were tons of pictures on the numerous counters and tables throughout the house. Some of them were of Tenenbaum as a child, but others were from proms, graduations, weddings, baby showers from every decade and numerous generations. Hell, she even had vacation photos of complete strangers that had spanned up to very recently. One that caught Cindy's eye was of an adorable, little brunette girl sitting on a bench, eating ice cream while chatting away to her father, who seemed completely engrossed in the conversation.

"That is one of my Little One's grandchildren with her father," Tenenbaum states from the other room. "Sounds weird to say, doesn't it? My Little Ones are not so little anymore."

Cindy picked up a picture of Tenenbaum smiling beside two elderly men. "And them?"

"Very dear friends, whom I miss very much."

Out of the dozens of frames that she had seen, none of them had Eleanor in them. Cindy crossed her arms and watched as the elderly woman poured some drinks. "Whatever happened to Eleanor Lamb?"

Tenenbaum put down the pitcher of lemonade and frowned. "She is no longer of this world," she answered, her voice cracking slightly.

"Jesus."

"She passed not long after she left," she continued. "I was there. I saw her die."

"Oh my God, I'm so sorry," Cindy walked over and wrapped her arm around the other's shoulder. Well, a fifty-year-old mystery had been solved, and it was just as she feared.

Tenenbaum clenched her fists, shaking. "She was a good girl. It was my fault she was murdered-."

"What do you mean?" Cindy said with raised brows.

"I will tell you another day. The memories, they are too painful now." Tenenbaum blinked away tears. "I did not invite you here for stories. I brought you here for a plan."

"Yeah, to get Tony Stark to believe in Rapture," Cindy said, still uneasy. "How are you going to do that?"

"I am famed geneticist, Stark and I both have love for science; we are curious thinkers, two birds of a feather. Our love of science hurts- kills others, we repent, we try to make the world a better place, but everything still falls apart."

"What are you getting at?"

"We catch something that catches our eyes, we must have it, we must work on it, mold it, shape it." She moves slowly to the garage door and turns on the lights, motioning for Cindy to follow. "I have something that will catch Stark's eye. Something he would kill to have." She stopped at a tall, cylinder shaped object covered up.

"And what is that?"

"Rapture."

Tenenbaum ripped the sheet off with the tenacity not seen by any old woman Cindy had encountered before and watched as Cindy coughed and sputtered at the dust. "Do you not recognize it?" she asked. "I know you have seen this."

As soon as Cindy could catch her breath, she gasped, her eyes nearly popping out of her head. "What the fuck?"

"Watch your language," Tenenbaum snapped.

Maybe, Cindy wouldn't have been cursing if a Vita-Chamber wasn't standing a mere foot away from her. Holy shit, she hadn't seen one of these things since she was a kid. She took a step forward and traced her finger along the glass, collecting dust. It wasn't as glamorous as she remembered. The velvet cushioning inside was torn apart and waterlogged, the once beautiful, golden wings were now a rusted red, and the neon lights were busted out. Instead of Vita-Chamber, it was Ita-Cham. Sounded like a bad STD.

"Weren't these things planted in the ground?" Cindy asked, turning to the doctor. "How did you get this?"

"By some strange occurrence, I found it at an antique store. My dearest friend, Mr. Porter, had a love of old knick-knacks and asked me to go one day, which was where I found this on display," Tenenbaum began. "We both nearly had a heart attack when we saw it. We ask cashier, 'where did you find this?' They say that a British gentleman comes in hauling this in, saying only to sell it to us."

"That's bizarre. You got a name to track him down?"

"Nothing. But, after that, I made it another mission to hunt down anything that made it out of that godforsaken city," Tenenbaum continued. "I have built up my collection over the years." She grabbed a suitcase off of one of the shelves and slowly opened it. "I get this from documentary crew; they were making a special on Rapture, they harassed one of my Little Ones in front of her daughter. Unacceptable. I gave them a good price, and they gave it up no problem."

Cindy cringed when she saw a familiar syringe. "Jesus Christ."

"I am sorry, I know you try to forget." Tenenbaum placed it down and took out a bunny mask. Memories flooded back in of deformed men and women with claws for hands, bulbous tumors, and inhuman screeches. "I want to forget, too.""

"What are you going to do with this junk?"

"The annual auction for the veteran's is coming up next week. The biggest one in the country. All the celebrities go. The theme this year is science fiction; all things out of this world. I have already registered all these things for the auction. People have sick fascination with the underwater city, and I know if Stark sees old piece of technology, he will be attracted like moth to light."

"Who's to say he'll buy it, though?"

"Trust me, he will buy it. Stark is a curious man; he sees technology he has never seen, he must have it. He must tinker with it. I doubt anyone but him could get this thing to work again," she said, pointing to the Vita-Chamber.

"Alright, I'm going to trust you here, but if an evil scientist or something gets a hold of this, I'm holding this on you."

Tenenbaum huffed. "You can do that, but you won't because I will be right." She paused. "Now, help me get this to the auction house."

"What?"

"You heard me, help me get this to auction house!"

Cindy crossed her arms. "Oh, is this why you called me down?"

"I could've explained this all on phone, but I cannot carry this," Tenenbaum replied. "Agent Meltzer, I am ninety-three years old. I cannot carry this on my own, it could kill me! Do you want me to die?"

She rolled her eyes. "No."

"Then, get the Vita-Chamber to the truck I rented! Come on, hurry up!"

Cindy groaned and grabbed the hand truck not too far from the chamber. "Why didn't you call somebody to do this?"

"I do not trust them with this, I'd rather deliver it myself. Besides, I do not like to pay the cost."

"Are you serious?"

"Yes, dead serious!" Tenenbaum picked up the suitcase. "After all I have done, the least you could do for me is carry this out. Do you want my fragile bones to break?"

She shook her head. "No, Dr. Tenenbaum. This is really heavy, though-"

Tenenbaum was already making her way out the door. She blew the younger woman a kiss. "I will see you outside. Thank you, dearie!"

Goddamn it, how did it come to this?

* * *

Peter's bag is packed for tonight. He's got his suit, some snacks, a change of clothes, and money in case he wants to get some food or maybe go on the rides. He doubts he'll be able to do the latter, but it would be fun to get a quick ride on the Cyclone. Now, all that he had to do was convince, more like beg, May to let him stay out later.

That would be the real challenge.

Could he lie and say someone invited him out? Maybe, but she'd eventually discover the truth and strangle him. May had been hurt that he never told her a thing about his alter-ego, and when he thought back on it, he definitely fucked up. Not telling the truth about that 'Stark internship' was definitely a shitty thing to do.

May always was honest with him, always supported him (she even suffered through the Stark Expo for him), and what did he do? The one thing she hated more than anything. He lied. He'd never forget the look of hurt on her face after she calmed down. What if something had happened to him? God, what if he had died when the warehouse came down on him? Or Toomes' wings sliced him open? She'd have never known what happened to him. That wasn't fair to her. Not after she lost Ben.

He was a shitty nephew.

Peter opened his bedroom door with a sigh and stepped out into the living room. May's sitting on the sofa watching _Real Housewives of New York_ , her guilty pleasure. She lowered the volume as she turned around to face him with a nervous smile.

"Hey, sweetie," she said. "So, you're heading out, huh?"

He nodded. "Yeah, about that… Is it okay if I come back a little later tonight?" He paused when he saw her brows furrow. "It's just for tonight, I promise!"

"Why?"

"Ned and I are doing a stake out at Coney Island," Peter answered, staring at his feet.

"Coney Island?" May frowned. "That's, like, forty-minutes away. What happened to 'friendly neighborhood' Spider-Man who helps little old ladies cross the street and saves kittens from trees?"

"Something kind of came up." He bit his lip and glanced up at his aunt, cringing at her scowl. "There are people in trouble."

"Peter, there are always people in trouble, and as much as I hate to say this, you can't help them all." She put a hand on her hip. "Remember the deal we made."

"I know, May, and thank you so much for putting up with me, but I got to do this or a lot of people are going to get hurt."

"Is it for drugs? Some kids canoodling under the boardwalk?"

Peter tapped his foot. "I mean, it's more like a child kidnapper and possible serial killer. Unless you put that in the same category as canoodlers." He hoped she did.

May moaned and ran a hand through her long hair. "Oh God," she murmured. "Oh, Christ."

"I know it sounds bad, but it's actually not as bad as you think it is."

"Is this about that what happened a couple nights ago when you were at Wildwood?" May asked. "Oh Jesus, you're not going after that thing, are you?"

"The Mariner?" Peter paused. "Wait, how do you know about that?"

"Believe it or not, I don't just use the computer for Solitaire. I use social media, too." She pursed her lips. "Well, just Facebook, but it's all over my feed." She pulled out her phone and opened up the Facebook app. "My one friend is posting about it… Actually, she's not really my friend, but I knew her from my biology class in high school and then she friended me and-"

"I get it, Aunt May." Peter took the phone and frowned at the post on the screen. For someone in their forties, they sure didn't know how to type. Jesus, it was in all caps. It was like she was yelling at him.

 _ **PSA:**_ _MY HUBBY AND I DECIDED TO CANCEL OUR VACATION TO THE BEACH THIS YEAR GIVEN THE DEMON LURKING ABOUT STEALING THOSE BEAUTIFUL BABY GIRLS I WOULD BE HEARTBROKEN IF ANYTHING HAPPENED TO MY BETSEY PRAY2JESUS THAT HE MAY CAST THE DEMONS AWAY AMEN GODBLESS!_

Peter's brows raised at another post that accused the Mariner of being a George Soros operative. "Uh…"

"Yeah, she's kind of a conspiracy nut," May said as she grabbed her phone back. "I want to unfriend, but I don't want to make it awkward, but her posts weird me out." She huffed. "I am getting off topic. Trust me, I know about the Mariner. That story has been around for years."

"Really?"

"Since I was a kid, the older kids were making up stories that it was going to come out of the ocean and nab all the little girls. It was my generation's Slenderman" She waved her hand. "My babysitter used to tell me to make me all upset. He was a jerk, and I think he got arrested recently for selling meth."

"I saw it, though!" Peter cried. "I saw it at Wildwood with Ned!"

"Maybe it was just someone dressed up? You know, like the murder clowns?"

He crossed his arms. "I know what I saw! No one believes us!"

"Okay, I believe you." May put a hand on his shoulder. "That news lady, she was a jerk."

"You saw the interview?" Peter murmured.

"Yeah, of course! I was so relieved to see you as Peter Parker and not Spider-Man!"

"If I don't go out and do this, a little girl might be kidnapped." He frowned. "She'll be gone, and no one will hear from her again, and I won't be able to forgive myself for not stepping in when I know I could've helped. Ned tracked the disappearances, they're striking Coney Island tonight."

Aunt May sighed and closed her eyes. "Peter…"

"If something were to happen to me, I know you'd be completely devastated. Imagine how the parents feel." He rubbed his arm sheepishly. "Besides, nothing may actually happen. I could just be yelling at canoodlers all night…"

She looked at him, her mouth in a firm, thin line, and then sighed again. "Alright, fine. You can have your little stakeout with Ned. Just be safe-"

He pulled her into an embrace. "Oh my God, thank you!" he exclaimed, unaware of her grunt of pain. "Thank you, thank you, thank you! I promise I'll be back at twelve-thirty-"

"Twelve."

"Twelve? Okay, okay, that works." He's not going to argue with her there. He's lucky he's even being allowed to go out at all. He grinned and rested his head on her shoulder.

"Peter?" May whimpered through gritted teeth. "Peter, you're crushing me."

His eyes widened as he gently pulled away. "Crap, sorry," he rubbed the back of his neck. "Sometimes, I don't know my own strength."

"It's alright, buddy. Have fun." Already he was sprinting out the door. "Don't die!" She called out to him. "Don't make me bury another Parker," she whispered.

"I promise, I won't!" Peter peeked his head into the doorway. "I won't die, I mean. I'll probably have fun because this is Coney Island we're talking about and I might go on the Cyclone but…"

"I got it." May led him out the door but not before tapping her cheek. "Before you go, you gotta give me a kiss."

Peter grinned and pecked her on the cheek. "I larb you!"

"I larb you, too!"

He raced down the hall, no doubt aggravating their neighbors, and after a second, May was alone. She crossed her arms and glanced at the ground, her smile finally dropping. As long as Peter was happy and safe, she wasn't going to deny this from him. This 'Stark internship' brought back a boy she hadn't seen in months; a boy May thought was gone forever, and for that, she wasn't going to kill Tony Stark… for now. If he ever pulled that shit like Leipzig again, he was a dead man.

Oh well, now she had to spend the next six or so hours stressing out, guzzle down a gallon of ice cream and attempt to take her mind off of Peter by watching _Real Housewives_. It was the only way she kept her sanity anymore.

"I can't believe you got a boob job, you fake ass bitch!"

May smirked at the TV. "Yeah, Janie knock her ass out."

Peter raced down the alleyway by his apartment. Hiding behind a dumpster, he quickly threw off his clothes, shoved them in his bag, and pulled out his suit. He traced the spider logo with his thumbs, barely containing his excitement. This never got old.

"Hey, Peter," Karen's voice comes on the second he puts on the mask. "How's the world's best crime-fighter today?"

"I'm doing good, Karen. I'm all pumped." Peter punched the air while jogging in place. "Let's go, let's do this!"

"Ned's calling," she said as his best friend's face came up in his vision. "You want me to answer?"

"Hell yeah!"

In the upper left corner of his screen was Ned, who was sitting at his computer desk with his headphones on, drinking a bottle of _Coke_. "Yo, dude, you ready for this?"

"I was born ready, Ned. Question is, are you?"

He slammed his hand down. "I was born for this."

"Hello, Ned," Karen greeted the teenager.

"What's up, Karen! You ready for today?"

"I am an A.I. It's hard for me to feel emotions, but, your excitement is rubbing off on me."

"Hell yeah!" The boys cried in unison just as Peter swung off. "Going to Coney Island, going to kick some ass!"

"Dude, we're going to see the Mariner tonight!"

"And I'm going to kick their ass!"

"Hell yeah!"

* * *

 _ **A/N: Tony is barely involved with Peter and it makes me so sad. Rhodey's definitely right when it comes to how by inviting him to Leipzig, Tony opened himself to Peter. Come on, dude, Peter worships the ground you walk on! Do things with him!**_

 _ **The compound in Homecoming is so empty. Considering that it's just Rhodey (who's not there full-time), Tony, and Vision, it's probably lonely. I feel like a lot of the employees on the compound are kind of creeped out by Vision, so he's definitely lonely and he's feeling the sucky emotions that come with it. Poor guy. Hopefully, there will be another face roaming about soon.**_

 _ **Tenenbaum is such a sassy little old lady, I love her to death. Seriously, that woman's lived through Nazi Germany and Rapture, what a badass. She's still a genius even with her age.**_


	3. First Encounter

About three hours into their little stakeout, and all Peter saw was some kids drinking on the beach and a couple canoodlers. Well, May would be happy. He and Ned, on the other hand, were not. This was painfully boring. Any excitement and anticipation they had of finding the Mariner had dissipated pretty quickly.

"Patience is a virtue," the old Captain America PSA's from school rang in his head. "The reward is much more satisfying when you take the long road than the easy one."

That may be fine and dandy for Captain America, but he was dying here! He was tempted to just jump down from the roof of the hotel he was perched on, change back to his civilian clothes, and go on some of the rides for the rest of the night. He'd be having more fun than staring at the ocean.

"Peter," Karen says, "there are some teenagers out drinking under the boardwalk." She zooms in on a group of about five kids a couple years older than him camping out and taking shots. "Do you want to save them from getting a possible fine?"

"God, how many times have I gone down there tonight to yell at these assholes?" he cried, flopping on his back, staring at the night sky. "Ned, how many under aged drinkers have there been so far?"

Ned, who was zoned out playing his _PlayStation 4_ , paused his game and lazily turned his head to the camera. He counted on his fingers before shrugging. "I'd hold up my fingers, but I don't have that many," he answered. "There's been a lot, though. A lot."

Karen gave an accurate answer. "You've stopped approximately twenty-one teenagers tonight. Both drinking illegally and in the middle of intercourse-"

"Yes, thank you, Karen," Peter groaned. His stomach was beginning to growl and he already ate his _Big Mac_ and fries. He reached over and took a sip of his now watery _Coke_. "I'm dying of boredom."

"Who knew I'd be missing stopping grand theft bicycles." Ned cheered when he shot a raider on his game. "Hell, yeah! That should be enough to level up."

"What game are you playing?" Peter asked.

" _Fallout 4_."

He scoffed. " _New Vegas_ is better."

"Don't be a purist, God," Ned snapped. " _New Vegas_ fanboys are the worst."

"Hey, have fun with your shit dialogue system and plot holes."

Ned huffed. "The dialogue system isn't that bad."

"Dude, how can you role-play when your choices are yes, 'yes', no, and no, but I really mean yes."

"The gunplay is better than both _3_ and _New Vegas_."

"I don't play _Fallout_ for the gunplay, though, Ned," Peter replied. "I go to _Battlefield_ for good gunplay. Fallout is a role-playing game, they advertised it as a role-playing game, not discount _Minecraft_ with guns."

Ned rolled his eyes. "Well, just wait until the next _Fallout_ comes out then."

"Dude, I don't know if there's even going to be another _Fallout_!" Peter sat up and threw his hands in the air, exasperated. "It's been, like, three years now and they're still shoving _4_ down my throat every year at E3. That and _Skyrim_."

"Yeah, I've given up hope for _Elder Scrolls 6_ ," Ned said solemnly. "I think _Skyrim's_ come out on every console."

"It has come out on every console! I don't want your damn re-remastered edition for the _Nintendo Switch_ with VR, just make a new game you hacks!"

"It's such a meme. It's going to be like _Doom_ where you can play it on the toaster. You see that video?"

"That was sick."

Karen sighed. "I'm glad you boys are passionate about your gaming hobbies, but the teenagers are beginning to have a group… canoodling session. Do you want to stop their intoxicated antics before someone gets hurt?"

"What's the worst that can happen?" Peter threw his head back.

"Given how some of them are wandering towards the ocean, and the level of their intoxication, there's a seventy-percent chance one of them could drown."

The two boys groaned.

Peter stood up and brushed himself off. "Fine, fine, I'll go tell them off, but no more after this. I'm done. I'm a crime-fighter, not a chaperone!"

The group of very, very happy teenagers were a little too thrilled to see him. They even invited him to come join them in drinking! Peter felt a bit honored; he could recognize some of them from the popular kid's Instagram's. They were seniors. Never in a million years would Peter Parker be noticed by the popular seniors, but Spider-Man was. He was a good boy, though, and Aunt May would skin him alive if he got drunk, so he was going to pass.

"Come on, Spider-Man!" A gorgeous blonde wearing only a bikini staggered over to him, wrapping her arms around his waist. "Stay with us. Please?"

Ned was begging Peter to stay, and now he was really, really tempted to, but he couldn't. Nope, this wasn't right. With power comes great responsibility, and this definitely wasn't responsible. He moved her hands and turned his head away. "Hey, as much as I love to," he began, trying his best to sound composed and cool, "what you guys are doing is illegal. You all could not only get fined and have a permanent record, but you also could get seriously hurt or die."

The last bit was from a Captain America PSA he watched in health class. Seriously, that guy is great when you need preachy, educational quotes on the fly. Peter just didn't have it in him to be coming up with new warnings. He was tired.

A jock, one of those real meathead looking guys, gets pissed off at that. "You being a kill joy, Spider-Freak? You want us to leave?"

"Yeah, that'd be nice. I kind of have more important things to be doing than keeping you from doing something stupid, Beavis."

His buddy pushes him back and gets up in Peter's face. "You want a fight, bro," Butthead hisses. His breath is reeking of alcohol. "You want us to leave this beach, you gotta fight me. Don't go disrespecting my brothers, got it?"

"Peter," Karen says, "I'm examining his combat skills." She paused. "He doesn't have any. Now, you should be able to diffuse the situation by displaying your dominance."

"Displaying dominance?" Ned snorted. "What is this, _National Geographic_?"

"He is incoherently drunk. If Peter shows his strength, the kid will probably run with his tail between his legs." the A.I. replied.

Ned sighed. "I can't believe the highlight of my night is you fighting a drunk guy."

The other drunks are cheering, pulling out their phones, and hoping for a fight. If you fight Spider-Man, even intoxicated beyond the safe levels, you're no doubt going to be a badass in school. Either that or a fool. God, Peter has no patience for this shit. Even the cries of the girls, that are whining for them to stop, are grating on his nerves. One of the downsides to being bit by a radioactive spider is the hypersensitivity to all five senses; his hearing, though, was affected the worse.

He can sense the buffoon is throwing his punch thanks to his Spider-Sense, and he dodges it with no problem. His attacker can barely stand as he stumbled about. You know it's time to go home when throwing a punch makes you fall on your ass. Peter flips over him, causing the group to lose their shit, and with his webbing, grabs the can of beer right out of his hand.

"I'm going easy on you because I feel bad," he states as sternly as he possibly can without his voice cracking. "But, you're starting to piss me off, and I don't think you'll like me when I'm mad."

Ned cackled. "Dude, you're not Hulk."

The teenagers, thankfully, got the message that it's time to go and don't try to push their luck with him. Beavis and Butthead ranted for a couple minutes before vomiting and passing out in the dunes. Of course, he had to stay with them until they were all picked up by more sober drivers. He didn't need to have any accidents on his hands. It took forever, but eventually, the beach was empty. Those that weren't picked up by their pissed off parents took the subway.

The blonde that had been hitting on him gave him her number after he walked her to her older brother's car, so it wasn't that bad. Maybe tonight wouldn't be a total bust after all.

* * *

Four hours. Peter had been sitting at his makeshift headquarters for four hours now with nothing to do or see. Ned fell asleep at his monitor twenty minutes ago, so that left him just with Karen. At this point, he was really considering calling it a day. He still had, like, an hour and a half that he could use to go on rides. It'd be more fun than sitting here.

Honestly, watching the children on the Cyclone kind of made him jealous.

"I spy with my little eye… something green." Karen and he were passing the time by playing eye spy. Yes, he was that desperate for entertainment.

Peter took off his mask and ran a hand through his curls. "Let me guess," he began, pointing out to the docks. "Is it that drunk guy puking?"

"Correct, Peter!" The A.I. cheerfully exclaimed, playing a stock sound of applauses and happy children. "You won again!"

He chuckled. "Well, it's not that hard. You always pick the ocean."

"That's because it's so beautiful."

At least someone was having fun.

Karen hums 'Still Alive' to herself for the fiftieth time tonight and Peter curses himself for teaching it to her after he and Ned binged the _Portal_ series. He lays back down on the concrete and stares up at the stars.

When he was real little, Uncle Ben used to take him out to Central Park around Christmas time to try to spot the constellations. Of course, living in a city like New York, they wouldn't find anything, but they'd get their hot cocoa and just talk about anything really: school, Ben's job, their favorite movies. Uncle Ben was the one who got him into Star Wars and science, and he was probably the only one besides Ned and May whose eyes lit up and smiled when he rambled on about his love for them. Then, when they got home and Peter was tucked into bed, Uncle Ben would pull out his book on the planets and stars and read the myths about a constellation every night.

When Christmas came around, and some nights were harder than the others, Peter would pull out that old book from his shelf and read a passage while drinking a cup of hot cocoa. Maybe it was crazy, but it made him feel as if Uncle Ben was with him.

"You see that constellation right here, Karen?" Peter pointed up at the sky. "Do you know what it is?"

Karen paused. "I don't."

"That's Ursa Major," he began, ignoring Ned's snores. "In Greek mythology, she was actually a nymph named Callisto who had a baby with Zeus, but Hera turned her into a bear. Later, her son tried to kill her because he was a hunter, but Zeus saved her by turning her into a constellation. He also was turned into a constellation: Ursa Minor."

"Fascinating," Karen said. "But, Peter?"

"Yeah?"

"That's not Ursa Major."

Before Peter can say anything, one of the stars begins to move and blink, and he groans when it becomes clear it's an airplane. Great, now he looked like an idiot. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to tell you," Karen continued, "because I love how passionate you get. Mr. Stark programmed me to be an encyclopedia, but I could listen to you talk for hours."

He blushed and rubbed the back of his neck. "O-Oh, well, thank you, Karen. Y-You're just in luck because that's probably what I'm going to be doing for the rest of the night." Wow, not even Aunt May could listen to him ramble for too long.

The A.I. laughed. "Good, I'll be sure to listen."

* * *

"And that's the story about the time I went on _Kingda Ka_. Scary, huh?"

"I don't understand. You swing on skyscrapers all the time; you even climbed up the top of the Washington Monument. How could you have a fear of heights?"

"Well, it's not a fear of heights, per say. I think it's more because I'm not in control. I'm strapped into a cart going, like, one-hundred miles an hour. If something goes wrong, I'm screwed."

"Oh, I see. You're very brave."

There was an hour left until their stakeout ended and still nothing. Absolutely nothing. Ned was still passed out at his desk, snoring in Peter's ear, which was making him sleepy, and now he was beginning to conk out on the rooftop. Even the crowds at the theme park were dispersing. Most little kids don't stay out this late.

If the Mariner was striking, it had to be now.

Then, there's the thought that perhaps they've been wrong (because they have been before) and the kidnappings already occurred somewhere else like Long Island. But, Karen hasn't found anything and _Twitter_ has been mum so far. Peter is still on edge. Something isn't right.

"Peter," Karen states suddenly. "Peter, there's something on the beach."

Her uneasiness makes him bolt up. "What is it?" he asks.

"I think it's your guy." She focuses in on the humanoid figure standing on the dunes and Peter's heart stops. That diving suit, the blades coming out of its hands, the glowing red porthole in its helmet… Oh shit, that's them.

"Yep, that has to be your guy," Karen says again. "You alright?"

Oh shit, this was happening.

He can't chicken out now. There was no running away from this. A little girl's life was on the line, and if he ran back home, who would be there to save her? No, Peter was ending this tonight. The Mariner's reign of terror was over.

Peter watched as the Mariner fiddled with its helmet before posing menacingly. Ned was going to be so pissed. He would've woken him up, but that guy sleeps through everything. He's got a brief window to make an attack before they're gone. Going by stories on _Twitter_ and _Reddit_ , the Mariner is barely on land for five minutes; they're efficient, fast, and deadly.

It's only when they stand up again to mess with their blades does Peter finally swing down and kick them in the back. They fly across the beach, rolling over the dunes, finally stopping under the dock. Peter doesn't wait for them to get up before webbing their hands together. The Mariner is dazed, but it's not until they're tied down do they panic. They scream and kick their legs in a desperate attempt to sit up.

You know what, this was a lot easier than Peter thought. A little too easy.

"So, you're the Mariner, huh?" he begins, kneeling down at the monster. They inch away from him but they don't make it very far before Peter catches up to them. "You know, you're a lot scarier on the internet. I got some questions for you, though." He throws them up in the air and sticks them to the side of the docks. "Karen, when will high-tide start?"

"Approximately fifteen minutes."

"Alright, well then you better start talking!" Peter demanded, praying he was sounding intimidating. The interrogation mode hadn't worked out too well before, made him sound too much like a cheap imitation of Batman, so he decided to go with his natural voice. He cringed when it cracked. "I know you've been taking those girls and I know you murdered the Banks family. Who are you and who are you working for?"

No response.

"Tell me where the girls are!" He snapped.

"Hey, get your hands off of her!"

His Spider-Sense is on full alert and he jumps out of the way just as a fist barely misses his face. Peter turns to see a bespectacled young man clutching onto a camera, his eyes full of rage. "You prick, what the fuck is your deal?"

Peter puts his hands up. "Calm down! You're safe."

"Safe from what?" The man cries. "Why the fuck did you beat the shit out of my girlfriend?"

His girlfriend? Peter slowly turns his head up at the Mariner, who was now saying words that would make a sailor blush, and blinked a couple times. He climbed up the docks and took off the helmet, revealing a woman whose face matched the color of her dyed hair: bright red.

Oh.

 _Whoops._

He taps his foot against the sand nervously. "I-I'm so sorry… I… Oh, God, I thought you were the Mariner and…"

The woman rolls her eyes. "Great, it's the Spider-Man. I got my ass kicked by a total wannabe."

"Yeah, aren't you that jackass from _YouTube_?" her boyfriend asked.

"Well, yeah, wait!" Peter crossed his arms. "I am not a jackass!"

"You almost broke my ribs and tied me up to the docks for no reason."

He sighed. "Yeah, that was on me, but you shouldn't have dressed up as the Mariner! Seriously, what the hell were you doing?"

She shrugged. "Getting some of that _YouTube_ money, duh? Kids eat that shit up." She paused before a shit eating grin formed on her face. "Wait, do you believe it's real? Like, were you fucking serious when you were 'interrogating' me?"

"Well, I mean-"

The man cackled. "Holy shit! He believes the Mariner's real!"

"How old are you, kid?"

"I am not a kid!" Peter snapped, groaning when his voice cracked yet again. "I am a man!"

"He sounds like he's at least twelve. Bet he's the type of kid who watches shitty _Five Night's at Freddy's_ videos."

"I was thinking _Minecraft_."

Peter scowled. "You know, I was going to compliment your costume, but you are extremely rude, so I don't think I will." He turned and began to storm off, his eyes never leaving the ground. "I was also going to help you out of the webbing, but, y'know, I'm a kid. It's almost my bedtime."

The man huffed and stamped his foot. "I'm recording this, dickbag! You're done!"

"Whatever," Peter replied, waving him off. "Have fun selling out to little kids. I bet you're one of those creepy assholes you make those Elsa videos."

"Wait, how do I get out!"

"It should dissolve in an hour."

"And the tide?"

"You'll be fine. You are pretty high up, that was all just to scare you. Looks like it worked."

Peter makes it about two yards down the beach before his Spider-Sense begins going crazy. His chest tightens, his mind begins to race. The last time he felt this overwhelmed was when he encountered Toomes at the warehouse the night of homecoming. Something was wrong. Something was very, very wrong.

 _Peter look up!_

The world seemed to be in slow motion. Peter whipped his head up and watched as a figure flew down towards him, a blade pointed aimed right at his eyes. He rolled away; his attacker hit the sand, landing on one hand, their weapon impaled the sand. The couple who jeered at him before gasped and murmured under their breath.

Peter jumped up, his eyes like saucers as they got onto their feet. "H-Holy shit." He tried to open his mouth to say one of his trademark quips, but nothing would come out.

Pulling their long, bloody needle out of the sand was another Mariner. They took a step forward and Peter realized that they absolutely towered over him: almost seven feet tall and inhumanely gangly. If this was a cosplay, this was the best one he had seen yet- exactly like the photos. Their costume was top notch: tons of leather straps and rusted buckles and braces, a large cage on their back adorned with pink bows, a gas tank connected to their helmet with scribbled children's drawings, a harpoon gun, and that glowing red helmet. They'd get a lot of awards at a con for that.

"You in for that _YouTube_ money, too?" Peter sheepishly asked.

They tilted their head.

He turned to the couple. "You should have told me you had friends."

The man shook his head. "No, no," he stammered, "t-they're not with us."

"Yeah," the woman interjected. "It's just the two of us."

The Mariner took another step forward and Peter inched back. They were observing him, never leaving his sight, waiting for another moment to strike. A hunter, that's what they were: and he was the prey. Their head tilted again.

"Peter," Karen began. "Peter, I'm sensing severe instability from them. They could be extremely aggressive."

He nervously laughed. "Oh, you think?"

"If things get too extreme, I will have to send a signal to Mr. Stark."

"I got this!" Peter snapped. "I can do this, Karen! Besides, he'll only come out here to yell at me and tell me to go home. We can do this-"

The ground shakes. The Mariner bends down with lowered arms and stalks him. The young man with his camera begins recording as the tide coming in is closer and closer. Peter lifted up his foot as the ocean water hit his leg.

"K-Karen?"

"It seems as if they are using telekinesis. Peter, listen, you won't be able to take them on."

"You don't know that! I-I can do this."

"Peter."

"Karen, you have to trust me!"

"Peter, look!"

The water from the tide suddenly came out so fast Peter lost his balance. He stared up as it began to circle around the Mariner. Now, this would be a perfect time to make an _Avatar_ joke, but he was too busy not pissing himself. Then, he noticed the grains of sand floating in the air, joining the water. With every passing second, with every step, more and more items were lifted: trash cans, umbrellas left behind, even pieces from the boardwalk flew over. This, of course, got those at theme park's attention and they ran over to watch.

Peter took a deep breath. "Nice cosplay?"

The Mariner lifted its head up and let out a piercing, distorted shriek. It was so loud. God, besides the jet, this might have been the worst thing he had ever heard. His vision blurred and the A.I. of his suit became static for a brief second. Ned threw his headphones across the room and fell out of his chair. Those watching, including the couple, cried out in pain.

Peter put his hands to his ears and staggered a bit. Ned and Karen's voices came in bits, but everything was muffled. It hurt so much, his ears were ringing. The crowds screamed.

His Spider-Sense was distorted. He slowly stared up just as the Mariner let out another screech and charged towards him at insane speeds, their needle aimed directly at his chest; everything that they had collected propelled them forward.

Well, at least he didn't have to worry about May killing him.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Shit is going to start getting real here, so get pumped! I've been busy with college recently, and this chapter was a lot shorter than I hoped for it to be, but the next chapter will hopefully make up for it. I like to stay ahead with my stories and have chapters on the back burner, so I'll update again soon! _


	4. Coney Island

They're coming for him. They won't stop. They're not going to stop until one of them isn't breathing. Oh God, Peter is going to die, isn't he?

His ears hurt. His ears hurt so bad he wants to cry. In fact, he is. His body wracks with silent sobs as he tries to dodge another jab from the Mariner's needle. It's a rapid fire of thrusts and besides a slight scratch on his left arm, he misses every single one. This isn't the ideal situation, though: his Spider-Sense isn't working thanks to sudden vertigo. It's hard enough dodging their fast attacks, but add the world spinning? No more warnings, one wrong move and he's good and properly fucked.

"Dude, holy shit, what the fuck did I miss?" Ned cried while running his hands through his hair. "Oh my God, Peter, this is insane!"

"How do you think I feel?" Peter replied through gritted teeth. He feels like he's going to be sick. If he throws up he'd die: both out of embarrassment and being impaled. "Lower your voice, it hurts!"

Karen's voice comes on the line. "Your eardrums are ruptured," she says sternly. "Listen to me, you cannot take them on in your state. You need medical attention immediately!"

She's right. Peter knows she's right; he's so overwhelmed, but if he leaves, what will happen to the crowds? A horrific thought crosses his mind: what would have happened if he hadn't been there? He shakily turned his head to those at the boardwalk who decided to stay to record or just fleeing now. This… thing would have ripped them apart. None of them would stand a chance.

The only hope these people have is for him to hold the Mariner off until they leave or Tony arrives. Yeah, yeah, he can deal with Tony. The only thing they're focused on is him; nobody else matters, they don't exist. Not even the couple a few feet away is on their radar. The young man clenches his camera with white knuckles, shaking as he records the battle unfolding in front of him.

No, this wasn't a battle. This was a beat-down. And Peter was going to hold on for as long as he could because if he didn't make it out, the thousands of people on the boardwalk would, and in the end, that's all that mattered.

 _Sorry, Aunt May. Please understand._

The Mariner screeches that awful, piercing battle cry, echoing throughout the beach and frightening the spectators. Peter fall to his knees as he clutches his ears. They were already killing him, and this was not helping, like, at all.

"What the hell are you going to do?" Ned shouted as the screaming ceased. "Dude, they are kicking your ass!"

"That's the point!"

"What?!"

Before he can respond, their hands light up in flames and they wind their arms back. Peter's eyes widen. His right is leg is burning, and as hard as his suit is working to put it out, there are a barrage of flames that seem to not stop coming. Turns out that safety class was finally paying off; stop, drop, and roll! Ned comments something about motion sickness as Peter rolls down the dunes.

Fireballs? They can throw fireballs, what the hell?

The Mariner, upon realizing that they missed their target, throws its head back, let's out another frustrated howl, and disappears into a puff of purple smoke. Peter got to his feet, taking a shaky breath. His leg was blistering, he didn't need to look down to see, nor did he want to, but even as the crowd breathed a collected sigh of relief and cheer for him, something feels off. The beach is still. Too still.

"NYPD put your hands in the air!"

The wailing of sirens signals the police's arrival. Great, probably the last people that should be here. Peter groaned (and it wasn't just because of his injuries) as two cops raced down the steps with guns raised, all pointed right at him. "Put your hands up or we open fire!" A portly middle-aged officer cried, his finger too close to the trigger for Peter's comfort.

"Do they not know what the fuck just happened?" Ned crossed his arms for a second before throwing them up. "They are not blaming this on you! No way!"

Karen stammered. "I-I sent a signal to Mr. Stark. He said he would send back-up. This couldn't be what he meant, is it?"

The younger officer notices his burns. "We got a call about a disturbance here," he began, "you want to explain why the hell this place looks like a bomb went off, or will we have to bring you back to the station?"

"This wasn't me!" Peter was taken aback.

"Oh, yeah?" The older cop snorted. "I don't see any other costumed freak but you."

"They disappeared! You literally just missed it! There was a puff of purple smoke and then they were gone and-"

"Oh, purple smoke, eh? What, they vanish into thin air, but decide to do it in style, huh? Give me a break!"

"Who was it, kid?" The other cop glared back at his partner. Maybe, just maybe, Peter could get this guy on his side. He seemed nice. Well, given who his partner was, that wasn't much of a feat.

As much as Peter wants to protest and declare that 'no, he is not a kid,' that would not be a wise decision. "It was the Mariner!"

Their brows raised.

"You serious?" Officer Douchebag rolled his eyes. "You fucking serious?"

Good Cop frowned. "Is this what you want to go with? Is this what you saw?"

"Yes!" Peter cried. "They attacked me, tried to kill me!" He turned back to the dispersing crowds on the boardwalk. "You guys saw it too, right?" They all began answering in unison, completely unintelligible. Fantastic. He instead focused on the couple still filming under the docks. "Come on, you saw it!"

The man huffed. "Officers, this freak assaulted my girlfriend." He pointed up to his girlfriend, still webbed up. "See, she almost broke her ribs! He was going to leave her to drown when the tides rose!"

Ned scowled and flipped him off, but it wasn't as if the guy could see it, nor would it wipe the stupid smirk off his face.

"Fuck you!" Peter cried, his voice shaky. "Fuck you, you're lying!"

"Explain why I'm tied up, then!" The woman replied.

Karen's soothing voice comes on. "Peter, I'm calling Mr. Stark again and telling him of the situation. Do you want me to call your Aunt May and a lawyer as well?"

"Shit, no, she'll kill me!"

The older cop huffed. "See, every freak is running about in their underwear today claiming to be a super hero. Cuff em', Jones."

The crowd boos and jeers at both them and the couple, making the latter anxious. Officer Jones, who is proving to be Peter's savior, kneels down and traces a finger on his burn. Peter bit his lip and stifled a shout. "Listen, he might be onto something, George. Look at his knee," he turned and pointed at the wound. "He's all burnt up."

"Probably self-inflicted." George waved it off nonchalantly. "You never know the mindset of these clowns anymore. I mean look at Captain America! Guy went completely off the deep end!"

Jones crossed his arms. "How the hell could he have done this to himself? Hell, how could he have done any of this?"

Only then did Peter realize the true extent of the damage that the Mariner caused. Debris was strewn for nearly a mile, scorch marks were plastered all over the sand and some portions of the docks, the boardwalk was a mess, and tiny blood splatters led down the beach. Shit, that was his blood wasn't it?

 _Shit._

"I don't know! Here how about we take him back to the station and interrogate him to find out." Officer Douchebag leaned forward and smirked. "Come on, cuff em'. Don't make me say it again."

The crowd protested. "Maybe," one man cried, "you wouldn't be so confused if you weren't such a dumb fuck!"

"Hey, I heard that! Want me to take you back, too?"

The younger officer sighed sadly, which seemed pretty sincere, and pulled out his cuffs. "I'm sorry, kid."

"Please, you have to believe me. C-Can I at least call someone."

"You get one phone call back at the station," Officer Douchebag snapped. "And I mean it when I say just one. If I were you, I'd make it a lawyer, 'Spider-Man'. Either that or you're bank because if I was the judge, I would be having you pay all of this- "

The sand behind them blows, but the wind hasn't picked up at all.

"Peter, Mr. Stark should be on his way."

"They're just going to arrest you! MJ's right: these guys are a bunch of assholes!"

"Hey, kid, everything will be fine. We'll get everything sorted out."

Wait, how could the sand be moving if there is no wind?

"Hope you got money because you're probably going to be broke-"

 _ **Shit.**_

Peter holds his hands out. "Listen to me!" he cried to George. "Listen to me, you need to run!" He stared down wide-eyed at Jones. "You need to get off this beach right now! Get everyone out of here!"

"Hey!" George hollered, storming over with a pointed finger. "You don't fucking tell me what to do here, you little shit."

"You don't understand! They're coming back!"

"Son, the Mariner's not real," Jones interjects.

Ned leans over and grips onto his microphone. "Dude, are they coming for round two?"

Purple smoke begins to build up.

"Peter, Mr. Stark should be here in roughly ten minutes."

"I don't have ten minutes, Karen!" He snapped. "I need him now!"

George sneered. "Crazy. That's what you are. A couple years ago you wouldn't be an internet celebrity, you'd be in an asylum. Look at you, talking to yourself." He turned around. "I'm going to have fun throwing you in the back of my squad car-"

A needle. A needle poked his large middle before he could even make a step forward. The officer stares down at it incredulously, peering his head up slowly to see who it belonged to. His beady eyes nearly pop out of his skull, his jaw dropped. Peter shut his eyes and covered his ears just as he heard the shrill screams from both monster and man.

Then, there were the gurgles; the final shudders before death as they desperately tried to cling onto life. Peter could hear him choking on his blood, gasping for breath. Oh God, it was the same sound in the alley. It was the same sound Ben had made…

 _Oh, God._

"Peter, your heart rate is increasing dramatically," Karen states. "You need to take deep breaths and count to ten."

Ned stared down at his desk, gaping. "Holy shit," he murmured, "I-I just heard someone die. I've n-never… Fuck."

Peter turned his head to the remaining officer, both of them shaking. "You… You need to get everyone out. P-Please, just get everyone out," he begged.

Jones nodded and raced down the beach to the other steps to the boardwalk. He wouldn't have to do much. Whoever was still lingering around the park had gotten the hint it was time to hightail out of there. Even the couple was gone; the webbing had dissolved during the confrontation with the police. The Mariner stared over its kill, tilting their head before noticing the remaining crowd flee. It screeched and disappeared once more into a puff of smoke.

"Peter, they're going to the theme park!"

"Can't Tony Stark come faster?" Peter sobbed. "Why can't he come faster?"

"I thought Vulture was scary, but this is something else." Ned was white as a sheet. "Holy shit."

"K-Karen, are there any kids here still?" Peter stared off into the ocean, trying his best not to see the corpse. "Oh God, they're going to want to find a little girl."

"Yeah, and they're going to kill anyone in their way until they do," Ned replied.

"I'm examining… No, no, most of the kids attending left right around the time of your first fight. The only ones who decided to stay were adults and teenagers."

Peter put his hands on his head and paced around. "This is the longest ten minutes of my life! Oh God, oh God, oh God!" He took a deep breath. "Okay, Peter, you can do this. You can do this. Just don't let them leave the park. J-Just don't let them leave the park."

There are numerous pained screams in the distance and the two teenage boys whimper. Peter threw his hands up before swinging up to the boardwalk and into the park. He lands on his knee with a hiss and limped through the entrance.

It's creepy seeing Coney Island abandoned; the lights are still on, the rides and music are still playing, but there's no one. It's just him and the monster. He makes his way down, glancing through every booth and stall, watching for any movement. Maybe he was being paranoid, but it seemed like there were shadows running about everywhere.

He slips and falls on his back. Groaning, he squeezed his eyes shut and grit his teeth as he got to his hands and knees.

Blood.

He's kneeling in a pool of blood. It's all over his hands and suit. He's fighting back hyperventilation at this point. He inched his head slowly around; he's going to throw up. Staring at him with wide, glazed eyes and a limp, slack jaw is Officer Jones. Peter put a hand on his mouth and fought back a scream as he stared down at the corpse: their gun laid in their hand, as if they were about to fire before being overwhelmed, a large gaping stab wound was located right in their abdomen, gushing blood like a fountain. A trail of it also slid down their mouth.

"He died of internal blood loss," Karen said. "That needle that they have went right through them."

Ned is not even looking at his screen anymore. His chair is turned away. Peter wished he could just do that. He should've never come out here; he wanted to go home. And, now, Tony Stark was going to come out here and save the day and then yell at him and say 'why did you think you could do this Peter?' or 'you should have left this to the big guys, even if this is above my pay grade." He wanted to curl up in a corner and cry.

He bolted up and sprinted as fast as his leg allowed him. More corpses littered the amusement park: some were stabbed and strewn in different positions on the booths, a couple were completely charred (human flesh does not smell like chicken and is the worst smell in the world), some were even frozen solid. There was so much blood and gore, though.

It's much different seeing it on a video game or movie than in real life. They can never nail that stare that dead people have, the ones that just seem to pierce right through you, or the strong, nauseating smell of blood. Looking at the badges on their chests, this must have been the backup that showed up. Did that mean the crowd got away?

"I believe the best thing to do here is follow the trail," Karen's voice is soft and gentle. "Peter, I'm so sorry that you have to see this."

He said nothing, taking a shuddering breath. Peter can hear them. The Mariner isn't too far down, making distorted clicking and chattering sounds. He leaned back on one of the booths and peered over.

The monster stood there at one of the games. They just stood there, tilting their head and murmuring. Ned, with his hands covering his face, turned back around. "W-What are they doing?" he asked.

Peter squinted just as Karen zoomed in on the beast. In their hands were three balls. Peter's brows furrowed. "T-They're playing…"

"They just stopped their killing spree to play carnival games?"

" _You have three tries to knock over those bottles, hotshot_!" The automated announcer's voice rings out, making the Mariner tilt it's head some more. " _If you manage to knock over all the towers, you'll win the grand prize!"_

They let out a cry, which sounded more like a cheer.

" _You ready, kid? Can you 'Stand up to the Bottles?"_

The Mariner nodded furiously and chucked the first ball, missing the towers. They stared down at their hand and grunted. Both Ned and Peter watched with a mixture of awe and horror as they leaned over and carefully calculated their next throw. They held their free arm out to measure perfectly. Then, they tried again, hit it, but knocked over nothing.

"Those games are so rigged," Ned whispered, as if they could hear him. "They do that to save money and get you to come back."

The monster stomped its foot and cried out in frustration. They glanced down at the final ball in their hands, dropping it on the ground. They threw their arms up and the bottles flew off into the wall with a shatter.

" _Congratulations! You're a whiz, kid! Come and claim your grand prize."_

Peter's got his webs ready. He'll strike them and get the jump on them now that their hands are on the counter, but just before he can, they jump up and pull a large, purple and blue teddy bear off the top rack. Peter blinks as they hold it close to their chest, hugging it. They run their fingers down its fur before fiddling with the bow on its neck.

"Are they cuddling with their teddy bear?" Ned said incredulously. "I thought it was just machinery under their helmet or something."

This can't be the same thing that tried to kill him and murdered all those officers just a few minutes ago; the monster that shot fireballs out of its hands and blew eardrums with a scream. Nuzzling their teddy bear close and cooing at it, Peter thought of them as child-like. Like a big baby.

Funny enough, that brief display of humanity made them that much more terrifying.

Then, their eyes lock and the Mariner stops dead in their tracks. Peter's breath hitched as they threw their teddy bear into the basket on their back and screeched. He lets them charge at him, staring them down, unmoving until they're about a foot away. He launches his web and traps their leg. They shriek again as they tried to free themselves, but couldn't budge. When they reached down with their needle to cut the webbing away, Peter leaped over them and kicked them in the back.

The two rolled down the boardwalk, brawling and clawing at each other for a good couple minutes. Peter dodged jab after jab as he beat down on their helmet. The Mariner was at a disadvantage for the first time in this fight, and he wasn't going to let them get the upper hand again. They were still disoriented.

At least, they were until Peter reached too close to their bear. They whipped their head up, threw him off with a sharp kick to the gut. He gasped, vomiting a bit, desperately trying to catch his breath. He didn't see them disappear into a puff of purple smoke, nor did he hear them climb up the booths.

He did feel them ram into him at lightning fast speeds. Boy, that did not feel good. He flew over the boardwalk and back onto the beach with a thud.

"Peter, you have a concussion! Mr. Stark is on his way, hold on!"

His vision swam; he struggled to stay conscious for a few minutes. He watched the Mariner flip over the rails of the boardwalk and race towards him with a needle raised. They pushed their foot down on him, their heavy, metal boot digging into what was no doubt a broken rib, making him cry out in agony. This was it. This was how he was going to die.

But, the final blow never came.

They tilted their head at him quizzically and plopped down on their knees. Peter shook as long, petite fingers traced along his face; their needle digging into the sand right beside his head. They poked his nose, his lips, and his ears with a grunt. Then, they ripped off his mask.

The Mariner seemed just as taken aback as he was. They backed up a bit, their hand going to their teddy bear, but after a second retained their composure. Their chattering reminded Peter of a dolphin: a demonic, killer dolphin. They traced their fingers gently on his bare skin again, their other hand running through his hair, moving down until they noticed the spider logo on his chest.

They glanced back up at him and then to the logo again before letting out something that sounded like a giggle. Peter watched wide-eyed as they pointed to their own helmet and slowly reached to the latches keeping it in place. Their hands shook as they began to pull it off.

Their helmet is nearly off, and he can see nearly their entire face when a blue blast knocks them into the dunes. Iron Man held his arm out, his repulsor loaded. He landed not too far from Peter; his sight never left the smoke billowing out from where the Mariner landed.

"S-Sorry, Mr. Stark," Peter murmured, his vision beginning to blur.

"You know most people my age complain about the kids these days having no respect, but you're too goddamn polite."

He closed his eyes and let out a groan.

After what seemed like an eternity, the only sounds being the crashing of the waves against the shore, the Mariner cried and staggered out, clutching their stomach. The leather plate was burnt and blood seeped through their fingers. They leaned forward into a fighting pose and shrieked.

"Jesus Christ, bet you could break glass with that!" Tony exclaimed, taken aback. "She's sounding like your Aunt May there, kid."

Peter responded with a glare, which must have been the reaction the older man had been hoping for, before going back to writhing in pain.

"Okay, no more games here," he began in a more serious tone. "You take another step and I'm blasting your ass to my buddy up in Asgard. I mean it. I saw what you did to those cops up there, you bootleg Jason Voorhees. This ends here. Now."

They tilted their head.

"You're a lot cooler online, pal."

They screamed one last time before sprinting down the shore, dodging blast after blast until reaching the rocks. The Mariner secured the straps on its helmet and dove into the water. Tony kept his repulsor on the waves for a few minutes before nothing that the coast was clear. From there, he turned his attention to Peter.

"Mr. S-Stark?"

He picked up the teenage boy bridal style. "Damn, they really did a number on you, huh? You held them off by yourself?"

"C-Couldn't save them… Let the police die-"

"If you're going to beat yourself up, shut up," Tony snapped. "They already did that for you. You did your best. Damn it, I should have been here earlier," the last part came out as a whisper to himself.

"M-Mr. Stark?" Peter asked weakly.

"Yeah, underoos?"

"T-Tell Aunt May… I'm s-sorry for… for not being home on time."

"In the movies, usually when someone says this they kick the can, so don't you dare die on me, Parker."

Peter didn't die, but he did lose the battle of keeping his consciousness. The world around him faded to nothing. The last thing he heard was Tony calling his name.

* * *

"Are you awake, Georgie?"

Nine-year-old Cassie Lang sat up in her bed after nearly an hour of tossing and turning. She hadn't been able to sleep and nothing was helping. It was always like this when her dad wasn't around. Mommy and Paxton said she couldn't talk to him for a long time because he was a war criminal, and if she did, they could all be in trouble. Paxton would lose his job and it would be bad.

Daddy fought alongside Captain America, though. How could Captain America be a war criminal? He saved the world so many times! Man, if she saw Iron Man, she was going to give a kick in his stupid shin just for Daddy! Maybe, then he would get enough sense to help Daddy come home. Nobody would tell her where he was, nobody knew.

Her giant pet ant, Georgie, peeks out from under her bed and tilted their head. Daddy had given them to her after his fight with Cross, and the two were inseparable ever since. Paxton and Mommy tried to coax her into getting a puppy instead, but Cassie wouldn't budge. Georgie was so ugly, she loved it!

A dog is man's best friend. Well, a giant ant is a little girl's. Mommy was starting to get used to Georgie, and Paxton would probably warm up soon enough, but they let her keep them. The rule was that they could only go out to the yard; other than that, they had to be inside all the time.

"I'm thinking about Daddy again," she murmured. "I miss him. Do you miss him, too?"

Georgie clicked their mandibles together as they climbed up on her bed. They nuzzled close to her.

"I wish I could call him. It's been a year. I hope he's okay…"

Georgie rubbed their head on her cheek.

"You're right. I'm worrying too much. This is Daddy we're talking about here, he's probably kicking butt with Captain America still. Lucky." Cassie wrapped her arm around Georgie. "I just wish he could call me. He promised he was going to be here for now on."

They laid like this for a couple minutes until they heard the creaking of her window. The breeze must have opened it. She got up and made her way to shut it, noting that there wasn't any wind. Cassie rubbed her chin.

"That's weird." She turned to Georgie. "Isn't that weird?"

The ant growled.

"What's a matter, Georgie? Are you scared?" Cassie asked, kneeling down. "There's no reason to be scared-"

She froze when she saw a tall, gangly shadow run across the room. She bolted up, breathing fast. "Did you see that?" she whispered.

Georgie stared up at her.

"What is that? You think there's someone in here?" She bit her lip as she remembered what had happened last time someone broke into her room. The little girl scrambled over to her desk and grabbed a flashlight. "Maybe, I'm just seeing things. You know," she began, turning to Georgie, "when you're tired, your brain starts going crazy and you see things that aren't really there. I read that in a book at the school library."

Georgie gurgled.

Cassie questioned getting Paxton, but the thought of walking down the dark hallway deterred her. She didn't want to look like a baby. She was nine! She could check on this herself now. With Georgie following close behind, she opened up her closet and inspected it thoroughly. When she saw nothing but her clothes, she breathed a sigh of relief and moved down under her bed. The only things she found were wrappers from whatever Georgie stole from the kitchen.

She rolled her eyes. "Georgie, for an ant, you sure are a pig."

Georgie nudged them.

Cassie stood up and brushed herself off. "I'll have to clean that up tomorrow or we'll get bugs. Well… I mean… you are a bug, but you're the only one I want." She placed her flashlight on the bed. "I must have been seeing things. You know, it's funny, but I was hoping it was Daddy."

Georgie rushed under the bed.

"Someone's tired." She sighed and crawled back under her covers, snuggling with the bunny she had gotten for her birthday a few years back. She closed her eyes. "Good night, Georgie."

She was just about to fall asleep when a bright, red light began to shine right on her face. Cassie covered her eyes with her arm and sat up. Her heart stopped.

Standing on her bed, towering over her, was a monster.

* * *

 _ **A/N: RIP Peter. He's not dead but he's going to wish he was when he wakes up. Also, Cassie's adorable and deserves better than what I'm about to put her through. Bless this sweet child.**_


	5. Nightmare

Coney Island. God, Cindy had a lot of good memories of this place when she was a kid: there was the time she accidentally got the old man sick after forcing him on the spinning saucer, her first ride on the Cyclone, it went on. They had stopped coming after she got back from Rapture. Mom had gone and got married to some hotshot, used car salesman, who decided that Coney Island was too 'lame' and took them to the newly opened Disney World. Thought it would be good to take her and her six-month-old half-sister down for some fun. Even Cindy back then thought it was stupid; the baby wouldn't remember. But, he was a nice enough guy who tried his best to be involved, when she was a kid, though, she fucking hated his guts. Him and Mom.

At the age of eighteen, she used that scholarship from the University of California to run and never look back. Did she regret it? Maybe, but she was surprised she wasn't more fucked up after coming back from Rapture. Mom and her step-father just didn't get it. No one ever told them. She always had a feeling Mom may have realized, tried to make it up to her, but the damage was done.

Maybe, she'd give May a call and see how she was doing.

The attack on Coney Island last night changed everything. Before, she would have been able to predict the 'Mariner's' movements up the East Coast, noting a disappearance. There was no way to know which beach, city, or town they'd hit; you can't stake out for this thing. But, she was following them, onto them, and once Tenenbaum's plan of getting the Avengers involved kicked off, they'd get the jump on Rapture. The girls would be home and Rapture would end once and for all. They had to be fast, though. Splicers were probably more desperate for ADAM than ever, if there were any still around, and the Little Sisters would be their number one targets. Even Big Daddies could be overwhelmed.

Those poor little girls. No child should have to go through that. God, they must be so scared right now. And then there was June… little orphan June, who in the end, had no one to come home to. Explaining that to her would be maybe the hardest thing Cindy would ever have to do.

She's pulling up now to the security checkpoint to get into the theme park. NYPD is making sure no one gets in or out without their say so, and they're taking it very, very seriously. After that YouTube video going viral with Spider-Man, the press salivated to get a peek at the damage. She could see their vans parked not too far away. They weren't getting shit from her.

Every news network in the U.S. was airing the same thirty-second clip of that video over and over again, expecting their so called 'experts' to know what the hell to say. None of them did. Hell, most of their jaws hit the floor and the ones who tried to come up with an explanation only spouted out bullshit. Though, to be fair, their commentary on it was pretty damn hilarious; Fox News was convinced that the 'Mariner' was an Obama plant set forth to destroy Trump Tower. Cindy gave them an A for effort.

Tenenbaum had called her in hysterics when it dropped. Cindy was afraid she would have a stroke, which given her age, wasn't that unlikely. It was unprecedented for this to happen- for a Big Sister to just go off the rails and commit large scale destruction. It's not as if they could, they had the potential to level Times Square, but that wasn't their style. In abductions, they were in and out before you even knew what was going on. Going on a rampage… killing a dozen cops… letting themselves be exposed… No, no, that wasn't like them. It wasn't like Rapture.

Why would a city built around the idea of being secretive, vehemently think those 'surface dwellers' were mindless parasites, put themselves in their spotlight? Surely, now every U.S. government agency was no doubt hunting down where this 'monster' was coming from. Unless, of course, they wanted to be caught.

Now, that was a scary fucking thought. No wonder Tenenbaum was in panic mode. They had to act soon.

There's a tap on her window and she turns her head to see a young cop staring wide-eyed at her. She unrolled her window and leaned forward. "You in charge of the checkpoint?" she asked.

He nodded. "I'm going to need some identification."

"Cindy Meltzer. FBI." She reached into her wallet, showing him her badge. "How bad is it?"

He scoffed. "Oh, it's FUBAR in there. The coroner took off with the bodies, but the whole place looks like a war zone." He frowned. "I actually knew one of the guys that got killed. We were at the Academy together."

"My condolences."

"I thought the Mariner was just a myth on the internet, you know? I got a young daughter at home and my wife and I decided it was for the best to hold off on our vacation to Disney World. At least, until this thing blows over and we catch this sick son of a bitch."

"That must have been a hard decision for you," Cindy replied.

He handed her back her identification. "We were saving up for a while now and we were hoping to surprise her cause her birthday is coming up. She loves all the princesses, you know? But, with all this shit going down with this thing taking little girls, I can't put her at risk."

"You're a good father," she smiled, "and don't worry, you're going to get her to Disney soon."

"I hope so, Agent Meltzer," he said with a tip of his hat. "Have a good day," he called as she drove off to park in the lot. What a nice kid. Oh God, she must have really been getting old if she considered a thirty-year-old a kid.

No parent should have to cancel a trip to Disney, one of the safest places on Earth, out of fear for their child's life. If Rapture was hoping to get the public paranoid, they were doing a pretty good damn job. The beach season was already over and Labor Day was still weeks away. The boardwalks looked like ghost towns.

She would stop them, though. If Stark and his friends didn't consider those girls important enough, then she would go down there herself and end it. It would kill her for sure, but she didn't give a damn.

"Ah, Agent Meltzer, so you're our guy from CARD?"

"Yeah, I heard you needed an expert here."

The police commissioner is the first to greet her when she eventually makes her way down into the theme park. Guy is nervous as hell, completely on edge. Cindy can't say she can blame him, either. After this, all eyes are on him for answers, and if a child is kidnapped, he's going to face the wrath of the city. He'll be the media's new punching bag. But, as much as he'll reassure them at his press conferences that everything is under control, everyone will know it's a bunch of bullshit. This is a criminal that you can't catch. It's impossible to lock down and secure the ocean.

Boy, is she glad she's not him right now.

"We got lots of experts," the commissioner replies, wiping the sweat running down his brow with a napkin. "None of them know what the fuck they're doing, but we got experts."

Cindy hummed. "Who's here?"

"Got some other agents, bomb squad, marine biologists…" He paused when Cindy's brows furrowed. "Yeah, I got no clue why they're here either. Some kid from Homeland Security just showed up not too long before you, got real excited when I told them you were coming."

"That's it?" Cindy puts on her sunglasses. "Are any of those clowns from DODC here?"

The commissioner chuckled. "No, no, there's nothing in here for them."

"Good, they've been nothing but a pain up my ass."

"I suppose you want to see the damage?" he asked while motioning her forward. They began to make their way further into the crime scene. "I mean, we got rid of the corpses for the most part, but the whole place is still a damn mess." He huffed. "We have guys frozen solid! Frozen solid!"

Just as he finished his sentence, a gurney with a barely conscious officer on it was whisked away by paramedics; his lower body completely encased in ice. Incoherent mumbles came out from his blue lips, parts of his face were completely frost-burnt. The EMT's did their best to comfort him, but they seemed pretty out of it themselves.

Cindy did a double take. "Jesus…"

"Got my crew here with hair dryers trying to unthaw these poor bastards. They're lucky, though," the commissioner said solemnly. "At least they'll be walking out of the hospital in a couple weeks. They're not pin cushions or barbecued like the others."

Cindy passed by a large stain by one of the game stalls that she prayed was ketchup. God, this whole place was a mess; the further and further they went in the worse it got. Of course, she expected that. During the long drive here, she had mentally prepared for a scene much worse than what she found in the Banks car, but it still threw her off. It never gets easier.

Carnival booths are scorched up, some of them held together by only a nail and a few pieces of wood; destroyed stuffed animals lay all over the ground. People were in a hurry when they left, so they dropped their food, which meant that they were doing their best to avoid stepping on funnel cakes, spilled soda, mushed up fries, and bird shit. This was paradise for the gulls. Investigators were doing their best to wave them off, but they were relentless.

Staring out at the beach, Cindy watched as more investigators did their best to sort through evidence in the trash strewn sand. That Spider-Man held his own, she had to give him that, but there was no way he was winning a fight against the Big Sister. She cringed imagining the aftermath if Stark hadn't come when he did.

"You think this thing is taking the girls?" the commissioner asked.

"If the shoe fits."

He sighed and wiped away more sweat. "Jesus Christ, I had just thought of this was one of those crazy stories on the internet the kids are into these days. I-I never believed those sightings meant anything."

"We suffered through an alien invasion nearly half a decade ago, one of the Avengers is a Norse god, and the Hulk exists," Cindy said. "Frankly, a sea monster isn't too far out there." Her eyes narrowed as they continued walking. "So, what are you going to do? Just because the Mariner ran off doesn't mean that they won't be back."

"There have been talks of a curfew," he replied, turning his head to look at her. "Frankly, I don't think it will do much. You see that video, right? If that thing really wants a little girl, they'll get one."

"Why not get the Avengers involved?"

"What, all two of them?" he scoffed. "Side's, kids go missing all the time. You don't see Stark losing sleep over them, do you? He's got more important things to worry about like aliens or some shit."

Cindy scowled, clenching her fists so hard her knuckles turned white. "I'd like to think anyone would care about girls, some of them toddlers, being kidnapped," she snapped. "In fact, I would be concerned if the head of the Avengers didn't."

"Here's the thing, though," the commissioner said uneasily, noting her anger, "he does care. He cares the same way all these rich pricks do. He'll see their photos on T.V., turn to his buddy and say 'that's a shame,' and then move on with his life because it's not affecting him personally." He shrugged. "Guy lives in a bubble; he doesn't know these people like you do."

Cindy put her hands on her hips as he continued. "You? You sit down and talk to the families personally. You know all about these kids; the story of when their parents took them home from the hospital for the first time, if they like to go to the park and feed the ducks with their dad, what Disney song they can sing by heart, who their favorite princess is. Stark? He's above that. It's how it's always been with these billionaires who 'care.'"

"And you?" she asked.

"Me? I care because if I don't I'm out of a job."

Cindy wanted to snap back at him, call out how full of shit he was, but she found that she couldn't. He was right. God, she hated admitting that. For the thirty-years she had been in law enforcement, she's learned to grow numb to some of the shit she's seen. If you cared and put your heart into every single case, you'd never make it. She'd seen plenty of good, compassionate people break down and quit from the stress of it all.

This case? This case was personal. But the others? Well, the good majority of them ended in tragedy. At first, she'd crawl into bed and bawl her eyes out, but the older she got, the less it affected her. She still cared and some days were worse than others, but it was all just a part of life.

She had interacted with people like Stark before; so-called 'rich pricks' who live in la-la land while the rest of the world burns, completely unaware. The commissioner was right. These girls were her world, but why would he act? He couldn't stop everything for every tragedy, and for him, the little ones were a headline and nothing more. Perhaps, the encounter with the Mariner would change his tune, but Tenenbaum was convinced the only way to get his attention was through Rapture's technology. He'd want it. Oh, he'd want it all bad.

But, if he knew about the Little Sisters- if he knew how horrific it was down there… Cindy refused to believe that he wouldn't do something; because if he turned the other cheek, fully aware of their suffering, then he was no better than the villains he fought. God, if Captain America wasn't a war-criminal and probably halfway across the globe at this point, maybe they could just get him to go down there instead. This was all too complicated.

"Are you Agent Meltzer?"

Cindy turned around, her brows furrowing at the new voice interrupting their conversation. There's a young woman standing with her arms crossed by the hotdog stand: her long, dirty blonde hair is tied up in a ponytail, she's wearing a Homeland Security vest over top of a black t-shirt, and her jeans are covered in sand, dirt, and blood. She reminded Cindy of herself when she was first starting out. She didn't know whether that was a good thing or not.

The older woman frowned. "I am. And you?"

"Sharon Carter," she began, taking a step forward and offering her hand out. Cindy hesitantly accepted. "I'm from the Department of Homeland Security."

"Your name sounds familiar."

"I get that a lot," Sharon smiled. "Anyway, I just wanted to say I've been following your work since I was a kid, and I'm a pretty big fan."

Her brows raised. "You are?"

"Your book on Princess Doe was a favorite of mine growing up."

Cindy felt honored. She didn't want to toot her own horn here, but she long considered that her magnum opus. The editor had pushed her into writing about the Black Dahlia because 'no one cares,' but boy did she prove him wrong. Besides, everyone and their mother has done something on the Dahlia; she wanted it to be unique. "Why thank you," she says, putting her hand on her chest.

"You know, I never thought I could handle working on the cases myself, but they've always fascinated me." Sharon laughed. "It's okay, you can call me morbid."

"It's alright. My special interest growing up were code books. I loved everything about codes. In fact, my old man and I used to write in them all the time; drove my mother nuts." Cindy nudged her shoulder. "Favorite book was _A Child's Garden of Cypher's_."

The younger's eyes widen. "By Orrin Oscar Lutwidge?"

"Yep," she replied, "the Wonderland Killer. It hurt having to write about him."

"I read that segment in your book American Killers when I was ten," Sharon cringed. "It gave me the creeps."

"Trust me, that guy did much worse." Cindy's brow raised. "I'm surprised your parents let you read my stuff. It's not exactly ideal children's literature."

Sharon fought back a smile. "No, my parents hated it, but my aunt would get them for me anyway." Her face fell. "She actually passed away last year."

"My condolences."

"Thank you. I wish I could've told her that I met one of my idols."

"You're too kind-"

The commissioner, who had been growing increasingly impatient, finally breaks their discussion with an awkward cough in his fist. "I appreciate you two bonding here, but perhaps now isn't the best time," he said, biting his lip before turning to Sharon. "Now, Agent Carter, what do you think about what you've seen today?"

"President is probably going to want to implement a curfew," she began with a sigh. "If there's another incident, it's not going to be pretty."

"I'd prefer if the beaches were closed," Cindy interjected, "but, there's no way that's going to happen. The best we can do is heighten security, educate the public, and hope for the best, I suppose."

"Well, it's the last couple weeks of August. With school starting up, hopefully, the disappearances will slow down," the commissioner said not too confidently. He didn't believe it, obviously. None of them did.

The Big Sister would come back. She always did.

Sharon fiddled with a loose strand of hair. "I should go report this to my superiors. Thank you again for inviting me down here," she shook the commissioner's hand before turning to Cindy, "and it was nice meeting you."

"It was a pleasure, kid," Cindy grinned. "Keep your head up, you're going places."

She scoffed. "Oh, I don't know about that."

Cindy reached into her pocket and pulled out a pad of paper and a pen. "If you ever got any questions for me, you know, just want to talk about more cold cases or life, give me a call." She wrote her phone number down and handed it to the other.

"Thank you," Sharon gasped, looking up at her, beaming from ear to ear. "Wow, this is awesome!"

"You're a good kid, Sharon. I've been in your shoes before," Cindy leaned forward with a wink, "and between you and me, it's nice to have someone to bitch to. We can bitch together."

She laughed. "I'd like that. I'd like that a lot, actually. Perhaps, we can meet up sometime and get some coffee next week? I'm visiting some friends that live not too far from Philly, so I'll be in the area."

"Fine by me."

"Great! I'm going to get going!" Sharon began to leave, but not before waving at the older woman. "I'll call you sometime tonight!"

"Alright, see you!"

The commissioner rolled his eyes as Cindy's phone buzzed. "Well, aren't you a social butterfly," he grumbled while she pulled it out and checked her messages. Ten missed calls from Tenenbaum and a single text from her superior.

 _A nine-year-old girl in San Francisco was tucked in bed last night, parents found her gone in the morning. Neighbors spotted your monster. Check your email for more._

"Oh, for fuck's sake."

* * *

 _He's back at Coney Island. Except, instead of being in his suit and the park being in ruins, he's got a corn-dog in one hand and a drink in the other. He's dreaming. He must be. He sat at the squirt gun game and turned his head to see Ned playing beside him._

" _After this, do you want to go on the Cyclone?"_

 _Peter nodded. "Alright." He watched the other win himself a large plush dog with a smirk. "You win that for anyone? Betty Brant?"_

" _No, dude," he replied with an eye roll. "I won this for myself. How about you get something for MJ? I know how much you like her. Everyone does."_

" _I do not like MJ!" Peter cried._

" _Come on, you totally zone out whenever she talks at meets, and we all notice the way you stare at her. I haven't seen you this dopey since Liz."_

 _He scowled, crossing his arms. "You know, guys and girls can be friends, Ned."_

" _I know that. You apparently don't." Ned frowned and pointed at his corn-dog. "You better not eat too much of that. You get sick on me, I'll kill you."_

 _Peter scoffed. "Come on, if anyone's going to get sick it's you. Remember last year at the fair? With the spinning strawberries?"_

" _Shut up, that's only because I hate spinning rides!"_

" _Okay, Ned," he replied, "okay."_

 _The people walking around them are blurred, gray faces that fade into the background. Yep, this is definitely a dream because no way would Coney Island be considered heaven for anybody. Not to worry, he'd meet his maker soon after May was done with him. Tony Stark wouldn't be able to save him from her wrath._

 _The creepy carnival music that he always hated becomes more and more distorted with every passing second. Some of the lights on the rides flicker. Peter glances up, his eyes narrowing. "Ned," he nudged the other's arm. "Ned, are you seeing this?"_

" _Seeing what?"_

" _The lights! The lights are getting all weird… and the music…"_

" _Oh, I know, the music sucks," Ned said. "They keep playing Shaun Mendez over and over again."_

 _Peter's brows furrowed. No, no, that's not what he was hearing. There was an organ and-and… could he not hear it? He stared down at the ground, pursing his lips._

 _Then, he heard it._

 _A child's laughter._

 _This was Coney Island, of course, there would be laughing children running about, but this was different. Everything had been quiet for the most part here besides the horrific music; none of the blank faced people talked. The giggles grew louder and louder in volume._

 _A small girl in a Minnie Mouse tutu dress skipped through the crowds, humming a nursery rhyme as she passed by their booth. She couldn't have been older than four. Wrapped around her wrist was a neon blue balloon. Unlike, the others, though, her face wasn't blanked out. No, she was normal: bright, hazel eyes, dark brown skin, full, cupid bow shaped lips, chubby cheeks, a big smile. Peter recognized her._

 _June Banks._

" _Ned!" He whipped his head to his friend with a cry. "Ned!"_

 _There was no one there. Ned was gone, vanished without a trace. Peter was taken aback. He glanced around frantically. "Ned! Ned, where did you go?" The lights flickered again. "Ned!"_

 _The entire park was empty. Not a single soul besides him and little June. The music shut off completely, the only sounds being her humming and the violent crashing of waves against the shore. He slowly stood up, his hands shaking and chest heaving, and made his way towards her. She stood at the edge of the pier as she stared out at the ocean, unaware of his presence._

" _June?" He tapped her shoulder gently._

 _She turned around with a giggle and stared up at him with her piercing eyes. She looked from side to side before laughing again. "We should play a game," she whispered._

" _No, no, I don't think I want to play a game. I think you need to come with me-"_

" _Tag, you're it!"_

 _She jabbed a finger into his stomach and then was off; running as fast as her little legs could carry her back into the theme park with Peter not far behind. Much to his frustration, she outpaced him by quite a bit, and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't catch up. His super-strength should have easily allowed him to outrun a four-year-old in light-up Disney Princess sneakers. Whenever he got close, something got in his way: a stand falling over due to the increasingly volatile weather, spilled food, or simply tripping over his own two feet._

" _June, come back!"_

 _She whipped her head back while she continued on with a giggle. June eventually stopped at the entrance of the old fun house. She got on her hands and knees and began to crawl inside. Peter cringed at the vintage, creepy moon grinning down at him before following her. He swore its eyes moved._

 _June seemed to get through the spinning tunnel with no problems, but Peter was rolling all over the place. He cried out as he banged into the sides. God, he always hated these things as a kid. After reaching the end, June got up, brushed herself off, and squealed as she watched him for a moment before continuing._

 _Peter eventually managed to get himself out, but not without a few bruises. He got to his feet and sprinted into the hall of mirrors. June was nowhere to be seen. "June!" he called out for what felt like the millionth time as he began to make his way through. He held his hands out and let them guide him to an opening._

 _After walking into three dead-ends in a span of five minutes, he groaned in frustration. At this rate, it felt as if he was never going to get out. Peter turned around from the current wall he was staring at and tried going back to where he was before. Then, he saw it._

 _A green light._

 _It was barely visible, reflecting just a bit off the mirror, but Peter could see it peeking through a torn, dirty velvet curtain in the corner near an emergency exit. Funny, coming in, he never noticed it; almost as if it materialized into existence while he had his back turned._

 _He sprinted, nearly colliding face-first into the glass a couple times, before rushing through the curtain. He stumbled a bit before regaining his balance and looked around the new room. His jaw dropped._

 _He was standing in a hall. A once beautiful but now decrypted, rotting hall; far too large to be contained in a carnival fun-house. It was full of Art Deco designs and sculptures: intricate paintings on a ceiling that was at least a few stories high, a wall that was made up entirely of glass, debris littered on a majestic dance floor, and an imposing statue of a man staring down at him with a glare. There was a ripped-up banner below._

 _ **No God's or Kings. Only Man.**_

 _There's a faint pitter-patter of feet. June skipped into view from the side of the room; her face shadowed. It was becoming increasingly apparent that it was not light. She stopped by the front of the window just as a whale passed by._

 _Wait, a whale?_

 _Was he underwater?_

 _How could he be underwater? That was impossible…_

 _June laughed, her back facing him while she giggled and waved at the whale and the schools of fish following it. An old time, muffled song played in the background. He didn't recognize it, but it reminded him of Fallout or the Great Gatsby. This whole place did._

" _June?" He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around. "June-"_

 _Yellow eyes. Yellow, glowing eyes. Peter fell back in shock. Standing in June's place was a monster with skin as gray and ashen as a corpse, dirty, matted hair in pigtails, scratches on their arms, legs, and bare feet, and a blood covered, ripped purple dress. But it was the eyes that got to Peter. Those glowing eyes with black bags under them. They looked like an extra from the Walking Dead._

 _They laughed again and then it hit him that this-this thing… it was June._

" _You found me!" she cried, jumping up and down happily, her voice distorted. "You found me, you found me, you found me!" She jumped in his arm and buried her face into the crook of his neck. God, she smelled terrible: like a dead person who bathed in fish._

 _Peter took a shaky breath before hugging her back. "June? June, are you okay?"_

 _She lifted her head up and nodded. "It's beautiful here. There are angels and lollypops!"_

 _He glanced around the room with a frown. Yeah, this wasn't exactly paradise. June got back on her feet, dusted her soiled dress off, and grinned. Suddenly, her face fell: large, yellow eyes like saucers as she stared up at the ceiling in pure fear, her tiny limbs shook. Peter wrapped her in his arms._

" _What's wrong?"_

" _He's coming!"_

" _Who's coming?"_

 _She bit her trembling lip. "the Son."_

 _There's a thump coming from the ceiling that's growing increasingly louder and more intense by the second. Pieces fall to the floor. Peter held the little girl close._

" _He doesn't want us to play anymore. He's going to take me back to Mother."_

" _I'm not going to let him take you," he whispered, soothing her. "Don't be scared, I'm here."_

" _No, no, he's my friend," she replied, staring up at him. "But, he's going to hurt you, though… going to hurt you really, really bad."_

 _Before Peter can respond something-no, someone- drops down, taking down a couple panels with them. Water began to flow down like Niagara Falls. The whole hall would be flooded in a matter of minutes. He's got to get them both out, now._

 _The man stood up from his pose, stretching his shoulders as if this was an average Monday for him. He reminded Peter of the Winter Soldier with his black military-grade vest with matching under armor, combat boots, and the several weapons holstered on his belt. Due to his dark gray diving helmet and goggles underneath, Peter couldn't see his face, but he looked mad as hell. Not-Winter Soldier snapped his fingers and motioned June forward. As he lifted his arm, Peter noticed a tube full of blue liquid running down from his back to his wrist._

 _June pushed herself out of his grip and Peter cried out in protest. She frowned and closed her eyes, letting out a sad sigh before walking over to the other man. The Son scooped her up gently; she buried her head in the crook of his neck while he inspected her for any injuries._

 _The way he held her, doted on her, handed her a little doll that was strapped on his belt, Peter thought of it as a tender moment until the man turned his attention to him. Just like the Mariner, he tilted his head, but said nothing. No piercing shrieks, no distorted laughter, nothing._

 _And for some reason, that made him even scarier._

 _June stared up at him in horror, pleading desperately for him to let the teenage boy go, but it was in vain. The Son whipped his arm out towards the other with fingers spread wide. The glass behind Peter began to crack and more water began to leak in. He hesitantly turned his head for a second, his breath hitching._

" _Wait, no-"_

 _They made a fist and, like a dam, the glass broke entirely. Thousands upon thousands of gallons of water came crashing down. Peter reached out for June desperately just as it all hit him, but she was gone. They were both gone. Simply vanished in a puff of dark blue smoke. His lungs were being crushed by the pressure. God, this was worse than the warehouse. It was like a hundred warehouses were on top of him._

 _He opened his mouth to scream, but more water filled his lungs. He put a hand to his throat as if it would stop the pain. Piercing, cold salt water stung his eyes. His consciousness was beginning to fade; the edge of his vision was tinted red. He wasn't dying. No, this was a dream. This had to be a dream, right? Why couldn't he wake up? The last thing he thought before everything went to black was the emblem stitched into the sleeve of the Son's under-armor._

 _A blue butterfly._

* * *

"Scott, are you almost done in there? You're kinda using up all the hot water here and, like, showering in cold water sucks…"

When Scott had told him that he was a wanted war-criminal, Luis had his bag packed and van ready to go before the call was even done. Apparently, when his Avengers contact wanted him to come along, it wasn't to save the world and shit. No, no, Scotty was kicking iron Man's ass! Damn, how cool is it to say that you know a guy who fought with Captain America? Cousin Ignacio better watch out because he was the man on the scene now! Nobody fucks with him and Scott!

Except, you know, like, everyone was fucking them. Okay, that sounded nasty, but it wasn't that type of fucking (they weren't that desperate… yet); it was the type of fucking where people know you're at your lowest and keep you there. They went from riding high with the Pym's and Captain America's crew to flipping burgers at McDonald's (because McDonald's don't discriminate) and living in the shittiest apartment in New York.

But, you know what? Life is an adventure: sometimes the road is smooth and other times you're holding on to dear life as your car tumbles over a cliff. Things always get better, though! That philosophy got him through his girlfriend leaving him, his mom dying, and his dad being deported, and it could get him through this!

They had to leave everybody behind: the Pym's, Dave and Kurt, and the Lang's. Hank said he was going to be doing work behind the scenes to get Scott a pardon, but it had been a year and that didn't seem to be going anywhere. Dave and Kurt, though, were like their eyes and ears back in California; they gave them the scoop. Hey, his cousins still called up from time to time, so it wasn't too awful.

Well, for Scott it kind of was. Okay, it was terrible for Scott. Besides him, he had nobody. Hank and Hope were doing their best to avoid Stark and his crew, and to do that, they had to go radio silent for a while. And if Scott even went so far as to give Cassie a quick call to sing Happy Birthday, everyone could go to prison. General Ross and his boys were not playing around. The guy was miserable.

If Cassie went to jail, would she, like, start her own gang in there? A baby gang? Instead of motorcycles, would they ride tricycles?

He needed to stop.

The prison Scott was stuck in wasn't nice; not like the one from before where everybody was friends and shit. Luis didn't know if they would throw him in there or not, but by following him around, he was taking a huge-ass risk. But, you know what? He'd walk to the ends of the Earth with Scott if the latter told him to, and he'd gladly go to a super-hero Guantanamo that probably broke several rules of the Geneva Convention. Hell yeah, they ride and die together!

Scott yells out that he's almost done as Luis moves away from the bathroom towards the living room. The 80's called, they wanted their television back. Scott thought the thing was a piece of shit, but he didn't see the retro aesthetic behind it. This thing was a work of art! Sure, they had to kick the thing sometimes for it to work, but it brought character to this apartment; that and the skinhead, horny drug addicts that lived next door.

Man, waking up to people fucking to Hitler speeches at three in the morning was wild. You can't make that shit up!

Luis plops down on their piss-stained couch and grabs the remote. Time to see the good shit, baby! Dancing with the Stars was his guilty pleasure, no joke. If they could afford a DVR, he'd have the entire series recorded. He hoped Carrot Top kicked Justin Bieber's ass in the finale.

"Breaking news coming out of Washington tonight. The president has declared that a nation-wide curfew will be set in place for all states on the coasts after the disappearance of over a dozen girls and the attack last night on Coney Island."

Damn, he saw the footage of that all day at work. That was fucking crazy! Scott fought Spider-Man and even he felt bad for the poor guy. Being thrown around like that must have hurt like a mother-fucker.

"We also have breaking news coming out from San Francisco," the anchor continued, looking as if he saw a ghost. "It seems that we have our first disappearance on the West Coast."

Luis frowned. "Damn, that sucks," he murmured to himself, rubbing his chin. "That's got to be rough for the parents."

"Nine-year-old Cassandra Lang has been reported missing by her mother and stepfather after she was snatched out of her bed at an unknown hour last night-"

"Oh," Luis stammered before his eyes shot open. That beaming little girl on the screen... he knew her… he… _Shit._

He bolted up just as his phone, which had been resting on the counter, nearly vibrated off the edge. "Oh! Oh, shit! Scott!" He ran a hand through his hair. "Scott!"

The bathroom door flew open and Scott sauntered out, completely oblivious and pissed. Luis, the shower's open," he began with an eye-roll. "You don't have to scream, Jesus. We got thin walls-"

He finally noticed the screen, most likely due to Luis dramatically pointing at it, and his face blanched.

"Shit."

* * *

 _ **A/N: I would have updated this sooner, but I was working on Chapter 6 and school has been a pain in my ass. Hopefully, this makes up for the wait. A lot of things happened this chapter and a lot of characters have been introduced.**_

 ** _We got our first, if very small, glimpse of Rapture! Since it's going to be a while before we get there in person, I want to leave little cameos to build up to the big reveal. Who is this Son? Are they a simple splicer? A familiar face? Whoever they are, they're definitely scary as hell._**

 _ **Scott and Luis are going to have a big role in this fic because these two are hilarious and I do love Scott and Cassie's relationship. Also, I know people are going to ask why Sharon's not in the CIA anymore, but I'll go into that later.**_


	6. Terminal

There is silence in the infirmary. Besides the occasional beeping from the monitors Peter is hooked up to, you could have heard a pin drop. Pepper stared through the glass keeping her apart from the boy and watched him sleep. Due to his healing factor, there were not enough drugs in the world to keep him comfortable, and her heart broke seeing his eyes clenched shut and his chest heave.

"Poor baby," she whispered to herself as her eyes moved down to the gauze on his burned arms and hands. She had known beforehand that he was young, close to sixteen, but finally getting to see him, especially in this position made her question Tony's decision of ever recruiting him. How was a fourteen-year-old boy supposed to turn the tide against a group of some of the greatest heroes collected? Had Tony even tried to talk some sense into him, maybe offer him another position as an assistant? Did May even know about Germany? Part of her wants to believe she did because if Tony had snuck him away under her nose…

When she was fifteen, her biggest concern was staying on the honor roll, hoping that her crush would ever notice her back, and desperately trying to fit in. She embarrassed herself one too many times during her high school years. The late eighties and early nineties were a rough time to be a teenager, which Tony seemed to forget as he used her freshman yearbook whenever he could for laughs. Fine by her, she had her own ever-growing collection of photos from his own "blunder years" to use for blackmail thanks to Rhodey.

Peter was a kid. His sixteenth birthday was in a few weeks. He shouldn't be worrying about missing little girls or monsters in the sea or face the burden of having to save the lives of thousands of people. That was an adult's job. Her and Tony's jobs. He was too young to be an Atlas and bear the world and all of its problems on his shoulders.

Tony didn't seem to understand that. Of course, what did she expect from a man that had to worry about being thrown in federal prison at sixteen after hacking the Pentagon on a dare? He never exactly had a normal childhood, he was always considered far advanced for his age. If Peter was Atlas, Tony was Zeus.

After dropping Peter off at the medical bay, Tony did what he always did when he was upset: locked himself in his lab. Pepper walked down the halls of the new Avenger facility, her heels clacking against the clear, epoxy flooring as she received some wide-eyed stares from the few aides that were still here for the night. They looked as if they had seen a ghost. She wasn't a superstitious person, but after seeing that creature, she wondered if she had as well.

She walked through the lab doors, immediately her ears were greeted with a shrill scream. She jumped and let out a yelp. Tony, who had been in his chair facing away from her, didn't even notice she was there. Behind him, playing on a large computer screen, was footage recorded from Peter's suit.

He had been thrown back by a sharp kick to the ribs, crashing right into one of the food stalls. Peter let out a groan as he came to his senses, his body still in shock. He leaned back on his elbows slowly. His burnt leg throbbed from the salty air. He stared at the blistering wound for what seemed like minutes, and Pepper cringed, nearly had to look away when he shakily reached his hands out to hold his leg. He cried out in agony when his fingers barely made contact with the charred flesh. Pathetic whimpers escaped his lips, but they quickly tapered off to nothing. Besides his haggard breathing, he made no sound.

There are a few seconds of hesitation on his end before he finally pressed down on the third-degree burn. He slowly pulled back, staring down at the large clump of skin that had just fallen off on his hands with absolutely no reaction, unlike the adults watching. Tony stiffened in his chair while Pepper gagged.

She couldn't watch this anymore. She turned her head as the sound of light, gentle footsteps raced down the wood of the boardwalk increasing in volume. Metal scraped on wood. Then, there's pure silence. Silence.

Pepper's almost looks up, assumes that Tony had stopped the video when the same horrible screech that she had heard when she first entered erupts. It's louder than before- much louder. The entire room shook from the intensity. There were no words to describe it. Pepper covered her ears and shut her eyes, but it had been engraved in her mind. It was the most horrifying, chilling thing she had ever heard, and she hoped to never hear it again. Because… because…

Because she wanted to deny it, think of it as nothing more than some machine, but she could hear it. Through the distortion, through the helmet, she could make out its anger… it's pain. So very human. The longer the scream continued, it became clearer, and she prayed her mind was playing tricks on her.

A young girl.

All she could hear was a young girl.

* * *

"Happy will be here with May soon."

"I'm taking that she didn't take the phone call very well."

"She had some very specific four-letter words for you."

Tony sighed and leaned back in the cold, plastic chair. They were back in the infirmary, back to watching Peter sleep. Cho was not too far away from the boy, sitting at her desk, typing away on her laptop. He wanted to say something quirky, crack one of the many jokes he had on May, but for once, he had nothing. Nothing.

The Mariner was going to consume him, remind him every waking minute of its existence- what it had done. The blood-soaked beach, Coney Island in flames, the piles of corpses of the men that he had sent to die… it was forever engraved in his mind. God, he killed those officers. The Mariner may have delivered the killing blows, but if he had just listened to the first distress signal from Karen, took it seriously instead of sending some cops who never stood a chance against that- that thing, none of this would have happened. They'd be home with their families, safe and alive.

On one hand, he's glad Peter had decided to stake out. He made a distraction, a punching bag, and the abuse he took would have killed any regular human being ten times over. He let the crowds get out to safety, and Tony didn't want to imagine the chaos if Peter had just decided to stay in the neighborhood or not go out at all.

On the other hand, Tony wished Peter had just decided to either stay in the neighborhood or not go out at all. Why, kid? Why do it? You were doing so good, too. He could remember him telling him a year ago that all he had wanted to do was be the "friendly neighborhood Spider-Man." No Avengers, no super-villains, all he wanted to do was stop purse snatchers, bank robberies, and get cats out of trees. Tony respected that. The kid seemed to have learned his lesson after the whole Vulture incident.

After a year of strict monitoring, watching every single second of the hundreds of hours recorded from Peter's suit, he had been ready to let him go. Let him go out and do his thing because Tony was finally confident he was serious about it. He had taken everything to heart and was doing an awesome job. He didn't need ol' Tony anymore. Hell, Tony wasn't too sure Peter even liked him, but they were stuck with each other.

And then tonight happened.

Normally, in a situation like this, he would have given him a lecture about "screwing the pooch," took the suit away, just let him have it. That would rub salt in the wound, though. Literally, might as well go to the kitchen, get salt, and just pour it all over the poor kid. Peter didn't need that right now. The Mariner's no bars beatdown was punishment enough. Damn it, this is exactly what Tony was trying to avoid.

"So they're taking the kids?" Pepper began after what feels like hours.

He nodded.

"I… I thought it was just an urban legend. You know, like those stupid stories on the internet?"

"The kids call them creepypastas," Tony replied. "I guess scary spaghetti didn't have a nice ring to it."

Slender-Man, those stupid clowns, the Mariner, for some reason, teenagers just latched onto these characters and make a crisis out of a shitty photoshop. Peter was no different. He knew all about Spider-Man's war on the "killer clowns" last year. That was nothing more than some jackasses dressing up in costumes, desperate for attention, which they got from stupid kids making a crisis. Slender-Man was no different. Just a poorly written story from the internet, but the youth breathed life into him, turned him into a modern-day boogeyman. Some were even naive enough to actually believe he existed.

But the Mariner? The Mariner was the scariest of them all. Every short story, every blurred, low-quality photo, was real. Tony couldn't ignore them. When the disappearances had started, he had just thought of it nothing more than a coincidence. Children were kidnapped all the time, as sad as it was. There was nothing he could do about it. Had there been some concern when more and more little girls vanished from their beds? Yeah, but again, what could he do? There were capable men and women that dedicated their lives to solving these cases.

Twenty-four hours ago, he had been convinced the Mariner was nothing more than a Slender-Man ripoff created to solely sensationalize the kidnappings. Kids did that all the time: add a supernatural element in order to explain something heinous. No one wants to believe that other human beings could be capable of doing that. Peter sure as hell probably didn't want to. There's a monster in the sea that did it!

Damn, they were right.

"All this time I was looking at the sky and space," Tony said, "but there was something in the sea. There's always been something in the sea." He paused. "I feel like an idiot."

Pepper's brow raised. "Tony Stark feels like an idiot? Now, that is something that you don't hear every day."

"How could I have not once thought about that possibility? Hey, if there are aliens, doesn't that, like, confirm that Godzilla could very well be chilling somewhere in the Pacific Ocean?" he asked sarcastically. "Oh, hey, maybe Andrew Ryan's underwater city is real, too! I used to be obsessed with that conspiracy theory when I was a kid, might as well have worn a little tinfoil hat."

"Your dad knew him, didn't he?"

"Old man would always get pissy if you talked about him. It never took a lot to make him blow a gasket, but bringing up Andrew Ryan and Rapture was a sure way to do it," he replied. "He'd go on and on about the guy, called him 'an un-American, spineless bastard.' I always just knew he did, though. Why else get so fired up?"

"Thousands upon thousands of the best scientists, artists, inventors, and up and coming entrepreneurs from all over the world go missing all at around the same time. Anyone would think that's fishy."

"That's why they call the place Rapture. Only the best were chosen… taken."

Pepper frowned. "I've heard some of his speeches online. Ryan's pretty popular with the libertarian crowd. I'm glad he left and took everyone who shared his 'philosophy' with him."

"Oh yeah, that guy," Tony scoffed. "Guy wasn't just inspired from Ayn Rand, he probably would have taken _Atlas Shrugged_ as gospel." He smirked. "You know what's ironic about Ayn Rand? She could bitch all she wanted about welfare and how government benefits would ruin the country, but she still went on Medicaid in the end."

"Still, to think that other people are 'parasites' just because they just can't work… to honestly consider altruism worse than the Holocaust and slavery?" Pepper shook her head. "Good riddance, I say."

He put his hands behind his head. "I couldn't have cared less about his philosophy. No, what attracted me to Rapture was the whole idea of a city underwater. A modern-day Atlantis. That's what _Fact from Myth_ described it as."

"Ah, _Fact from Myth_ with Myles Bloom," Pepper slightly smiled.

"I'd tune in every week when I was a teenager. They used to play reruns all the time. The Rapture episode, though, was always my favorite." Tony bit his lip as nostalgia hit him. "My dad saw me watching it one night, he snapped. Turned it off and 'called it mindless television,' tried to ban it. Like that would stop me. He only made me more convinced it was real. I knew that he knew."

"Did he?"

"Well, I confronted him at dinner on one of the rare nights he was home." He stared down at the floor as he remembered Howard's reaction. How he had choked on his drink before leering at him in complete disgust. His mother had backed away, just as she always did, and watched.

"It didn't end well."

* * *

May arrived at around three in the morning, storming through the doors of the infirmary like a whirlwind. Happy trailed behind her, desperate to keep up. He tried his best to calm her down, but not even Hulk could stop her. The woman was a warpath.

"Where is he?" she cried as she entered the room. "Oh my God, where is he?"

"May Parker," Pepper stood up, extending her hand. "I'm Pepper Potts, CEO of Stark Industries. Now, I understand you're upset right now, but Peter's-"

"Shut up."

"Now, May," Tony began as Pepper slowly pulled her hand away and sat back down, "you look beautiful as always."

That was a lie. Even Pepper knew he was full of shit and gave him a face. May looked terrible with her unbrushed, frazzled hair, which was put up in a sloppy ponytail, the heavy bags under her eyes revealing her age and exhaustion. The real kicker was the pink bathrobe over Mickey Mouse pajamas and the bunny slippers. He was almost tempted to crack a joke about how she let herself go. He'd absolutely be murdered right there and then, but it'd be worth it to get a jab in given how rocky their relationship currently was.

She glares at him. "Where is Peter?"

"Now, Ms. Parker, I tried telling you that it looks worse than it actually is," Happy interjects before being cut off by May.

"Oh, shut the hell up!" She stomped her foot, turning her heels to face the Head of Security. "You know what, I've put up with this bullshit because it made Peter happy, but I'm putting my foot down! No more!" Happy cowered. "I knew this was going to happen! I should have trusted my instincts! God, why I didn't trust my instincts?"

"N-Now, Ms. Parker, you have every right to be upset-"

"I think we're all exhausted here," Pepper said, trying to keep the peace. "We'll take you to the Peter and you can rest."

She whipped her head around, absolutely unhinged. "No!" she cried through gritted teeth. "No, you are not pinning on this me and telling me I'm simply 'out of it.' That I'm crazy!" She took a step toward them and Happy could breathe a sigh of relief knowing the pressure was no longer on him. "I know my rights! I should press charges against you! All of you!"

"Press charges?" Pepper laughed nervously. "We're working well within the law."

"Is that what you think?" May scoffed. "Must be nice to have your head so far up your ass!"

Tony motioned to Happy to be ready to restrain her. He didn't want to take any chances. "You know what, May? How about we have a beer, talk this out like adults. You look like you need a drink," he replied. "Besides, Peter's right outside. You're upsetting him."

"I'm upsetting him?" She was flabbergasted, her jaw nearly hitting the floor before she snapped, completely mad. "Oh, so I'm the one who upset him? Not you, though? Even after you blackmailed my fourteen-year-old nephew to go to Germany to fight grown men and women, two of them super-soldiers, without ever coming to me?"

Tony's breath hitched. Oh, damn. She was really going there. Happy paled and fiddled with his collar while Pepper's brows furrowed at him. Oh, this was not going to end well.

"Wait, I thought you said you got the go-ahead from May for Leipzig," Pepper began with a scowl.

"Oh, did he lie to you, too?" The other woman asked, throwing her hands up. "Welcome to the club, sweetheart!"

"Well, yes, I may have, but she would have never allowed him to go, and well, we needed him," Tony rambled, realizing he just made everything worse.

"You needed a fourteen-year-old boy to win your war?" May hissed. "That was your 'Hail Mary' pass? An eighth grader?"

"He's a tough kid and I made sure he wouldn't have gotten hurt. You can trust me, Ms. Parker."

"No, I can't trust you." She took a shaky breath, her anger dissipating. "You don't understand how much this is killing me." It is taking everything in her not to cry, but she can't keep her composure for much longer. "I know I'm not related to him by blood, and to him I'm just his aunt, but I love him. He's my son. He is the only person I have left, do you get that?"

She can't fight back her tears anymore and has to remove her glasses to wipe her eyes. "I have nothing without him." She let out a sob. "H-How dare you? You're not his guardian! My God, he's not old enough to sign legal documents, he's not even registered for these Accords, is he? Why? Why would you make these decisions without me!"

Pepper reaches out to put a hand on her shoulder, giving Tony a glare.

"You just come in and think because you're Tony Stark and you're rich and you're a superhero, you know more about Peter than I do! No!" she cried. "No, you don't know him! You only pretended to care when you needed him, and then after that you… you just tossed him to the side like he was trash… to him!" She pointed to Happy, who was ready to run out of the room. "Would it have killed you to just answer his calls once? Even just pretend that you were interested!"

"I-I'm busy!"

"He worships the ground you walk on! You've been his hero since he was a little boy!" She pointed at Tony, and it felt as if his heart had gotten pierced again. "Don't you dare pretend that you care about Peter when you don't even know him. Because if you had really cared, you would have made the effort to."

"He's an important asset to the team-"

"He's not an asset!" May broke down and wept. "He's not an asset, he's not a soldier! He's my little boy!" Pepper moved to hold her in an embrace, whispering comforting words. "He's my little boy…"

There's a pregnant pause between the four adults. It lasts a few seconds, yet, it feels like hours. Tony finally coughs into his fist, not sure he can even look the poor woman in the eyes. "I want to help you, May. I really do."

"You want to help?" she whimpered. "Be there for him. Do things with him." She took a tissue given to her by Happy and blew her nose. "Don't blow him off, please. He can be a lot to handle, but he's a good boy, He just has a big heart."

Pepper shushed her gently. "We know he's a good boy, May. He'll get through this."

"The scars on his body will heal, that's not what I'm worried about. It's just the things he saw, what he's been through, he's not going to be the same!" she sobbed. "Oh God, I saw it on the news: the fires, the blood, that monster! He must have been so scared! It's all my fault! He told me he was going to go out and wait for it! I let him go! The story's been around since I was a kid-"

"The Mariner has been around before? This isn't some new thing made up on a whim by the internet?" Tony asked.

"No. No," she shook her head. "The Mariner's been around for years. Always used to explain when little girls were kidnapped by the sea." She suddenly cried out. "Oh God, it's real! All of it's real!"

"May, it's okay, take some deep breathes," Pepper said.

"I need to see Peter. I-I need to see him!"

Tony pointed to the window just as Peter stirred slightly. Maybe he was waking up. God, Tony hoped he was. May pulled herself out of Pepper's arms and raced towards the glass, letting out a cry when she finally saw her nephew.

"Oh, my poor baby! What did they do to you?"

"Our doctor says that it looks worse than it is," Tony said softly. "He should be off the IV in the morning. The burns will be mostly healed up by then."

"That doesn't make it any easier."

Happy glanced around the room before opening his mouth. "If it makes you feel better, he's lucky to be alive. Tony found him on the beach, the Mariner's needle was a couple centimeters from his aorta." He got an eye roll from Tony and a smack on the shoulder from Pepper for that one.

"How the hell is that supposed to make me feel better?" May snapped. "God, all he wanted to do was save those little girls… He just wouldn't stop talking about them. 'If I don't save them, no one will' he'd say because 'no one else cares!'"

"We told you, May. He's a great kid."

"You don't think I know that?" she exclaimed before exhaling. "I always wonder how he came out alright, even after everything that's happened to him. It was Ben. I know it was Ben. I'm not exactly mother of the year, you know?"

Tony put a hand on her back, and for once, she didn't recoil. "You're doing the best you can. I'm sorry for everything, May. I really am," he apologized. "I never wanted this to happen."

"Well, it did," she replied, staring at him, her expression conveying just how betrayed she felt. "And you lied to me. You knew Peter was lying to me, and instead of coming to me and telling me the truth, you enabled him. You brought him into this, Stark. You see that?" She pointed to her nephew. "He survived, yeah, but a part of him did die tonight. You… You don't just see those terrible things, experience that, and come out the same."

"I know," Tony said solemnly. "I know all too well."

"So, what's going to happen?" she asked. "Are you just going to walk away from this? Leave me to deal with this by myself? Cause… Cause I can't. I-I can't help him, I know I can't."

Pepper took her hand. "May, you're not alone. I promise you that we will do everything we possibly can for Peter's recovery." She scowled at her fiancé, or at this rate, ex-fiancé. "Right, Tony?"

"Of course, yeah. You need anything, May, you call. The facility is always open. Stay as long as you need."

"I can't believe you lied to me," May muttered, her stare never leaving Peter as she shook her head. "I can't believe you lied to me," she repeated, broken.

There's the sudden, rapid beeping of the monitors and shouts from Cho that get all the adult's attention. Peter's awake; screaming out, retching and convulsing on the bed. It was expected he would have a rough awakening, Cho had warned. Tony just didn't expect it to be this bad. May raced in at breakneck speeds with the others right behind her.

Peter spat up water all over himself, gasping for air as they entered the room. The teenager was white as a sheet and his hands shook violently. He pulled up his soaked covers, desperate to hide from something. Tony thought it was the Mariner until his nostril was greeted with the smell of salt water. The whole damn room smelled like the ocean.

"Peter!" May cried, pulling him close to her chest and rocking him. "Peter-"

Peter screamed and clawed at her desperately trying to get away. It was a two-man effort by Tony and Happy to get him so he wouldn't run off or hurt anyone, including himself. The wild, terrified look in his eyes reminded Tony of a wounded, cornered animal. "No, no, no!" he screeched.

"Kid, kid," Tony began softly, trying his best to remain composed and not show how scared he was as well. He kept a grip on the teenager as he tried to bring him back to reality. "Peter, look at me," he demanded. "Look at me. You're okay, Peter."

To his surprise, it was working. Screams turned into whimpers as the boy's large, brown eyes stared back at his own. Tony pulled him into an embrace, and into his surprise, Peter held onto him as if he was a lifeline, the younger's body beginning to shake with silent sobs. "You're okay, buddy," Tony whispered. "You're okay."

"I-I thought I was going to die," Peter began, sputtering.

"You're okay, you're safe."

"H-He was going to kill me."

"And I didn't let that happen. You did good today, kid."

"I couldn't breathe. It hurts to breathe."

"You broke your ribs," Cho replied, staring down at the water on the bed in befuddlement. "And it seems like you must have swallowed some salt water during your fight."

"I-I didn't go in the ocean, though," Peter replied and Tony nodded in agreement, confused himself. "W-Well, I was… after I passed out… I was in a city underwater… t-there was this guy in military gear wearing a blue butterfly pin on his sleeve. He opened his hand, and the whole window broke, and the water came in and I couldn't breathe and-"

"And it was just a dream, baby," May said, rubbing his arm gently. "See, you're safe."

"No… No, it felt so real…"

Pepper smiled. "Sometimes dreams feel that way. Your aunt's right. Everything's okay now."

He slowly shook his head, his eyes dull. "No, no, it's not okay," he murmured. "I couldn't save them. Couldn't save the cops. Couldn't save the kids-"

"That's my fault, Peter," Tony shut his eyes. "That's my fault. I-I should have been there sooner, shouldn't have let you gone through that."

"Mr. Stark?"

"Yeah, kid."

"I don't think I can be Spider-Man anymore… I can't…" There's another gut-wrenching wail and Tony holds him even closer, rocks him lightly. "P-Please don't be mad at me…"

"I'm not mad. I'm not mad, bud."

What had he done?

* * *

"Hello? Prince? Where did you go?"

The tiny girl's voice echoes in the decrepit toy store while she toddles through the aisles. She picks up a dirty doll that's missing its arm. She grins and cradles it against her chubby cheek before giving it a kiss on the forehead. "Hello, Madam Butterfly!" she cheerfully greeted her new friend. "Have you seen the prince? He disappeared!"

"No," she replied to herself in a higher pitched, British accent, giggling as she did it. "Maybe he is giving the angels sweet kisses? Or, maybe's he's dancing with the Big Sisters!"

"Oh, I love when they dance," she said dreamily. "He takes one of them by the hand and walks her out to the ballroom. Oh," she plopped down on a dusty bench, "it's so romantic! The Big Sisters are so pretty, aren't they? And he's so handsome!" She stared down at the doll, her yellow eyes sparkling. "It's just like in Beauty and the Beast when Belle and the Beast dance! Big Sisters do kind of look like the princesses, don't they? I can just watch them forever!"

"But, if you watched them forever, who'd watch over the angels?"

She pouted. "You're right. I don't the trust the other me's." She stuck out her tongue. "Bad not me's!"

There's shuffling from one of the aisles and June jumps to her feet. Glancing around the room, she could see a hunched over shadow by the model trains. Metal hit the floor. She held her doll as she cautiously peeked around the corner. "Prince?"

There is a retch and the sound of liquid violently splashing onto the floor. She let out a squeak and put a hand over her mouth. June raced over to the vomiting man. Rubbing his back and singing nursery rhymes, she hoped it would make him stop. He didn't.

"Oh no," she whispered after a minute. "Oh no, oh no, oh no." June raced to the nearest vending machine to buy some water. "Bad other me's weren't lying. The prince is sick!" She returned as he sputtered, finally finishing. "You need to drink this!"

A trembling gloved hand took the bottle of water. The Son staggered over to the bench and took a sip, his breaths ragged and his appearance haggard. For a second, and just a second, June could see reality. The beautiful store turning into what it really was, the prince's soft smile turning into a tortured expression as he ran a hand through her unwashed, matted hair. Glowing, orange eyes more vibrant due to the black war paint, a grey, ashen face, ADAM dripping down his chapped lips. This couldn't be the prince! No!

June buried her head into his vest and cried out just as everything became 'normal' again. He wraps her arm around her and stares back at all the wonderful toys and candy that covered the many shelves. Light once again filled the room. She lifted her head up and breathed a sigh of relief to see him smiling again.

"You're going to be okay, right?" she asked. "Mommy's going to make you better, isn't she?"

He nodded.

"I like Mr. Bubbles, he's my best friend, but you're my bestest friend!" She held her arms out as far as they could. "I love you this much!"

That got her a hair ruffle. She laughed hysterically. He never joined her, but still, he smiled. He always smiled. Right?

"I thought I saw a boy earlier in the hall. What did you do to him? Is he okay?"

There's no reply.

"I hope he's okay. He was nice for someone who wasn't an angel."

He's still smiling, yet she's uneasy. It doesn't feel real. She reaches for her syringe and unscrews the cap before dabbing her fingers into the blood like ADAM. Standing on her tippy-toes, she leans forward and smears it on the corners of his mouth. There. Now he'll always be happy, just like she is.

He gently scooped her up in his strong arms and began to walk. She couldn't smell the stench of ADAM and vomit. She rested her head on the crook of his neck. She saw paradise. "You'll have to get me back to Mr. Bubbles," she said with a yawn. "We're going to find beautiful angels tonight… We'll have a party."

He grunted.

"And you can come, too. There'll be cake. Mr. B and I will go to Lillipoppi and get the tastiest cake from the Lillipop." She closed her eyes. "No bad other me's allowed. I'm the only me… I'm me…"

He shushed her softly. He was so close to the vent. So close to being alone at last. When he finally does reach the top, he places the girl down and watches as she crawls away, happily singing about her party. He could sing. Once, long ago, he could sing. It didn't come out right now. He hated his voice. But, it was so nice before. Everything was nice before.

"I don't know who I am," he finally says, his voice hoarse and distorted. He sounds like the children. "I was a somebody. B-But, now I'm a nobody… nobody… too many ghosts… so many ghosts." He paused. "I was an architect, a model, an actor, a father, a mother, a baseball player, a scientist… No, I wasn't." He picked at the scabs on his hand frantically. "Forgetting. I-I'm forgetting. S-Scabby on my hand! Scabby on my hand!"

He stands up and makes his way to the large portrait on the wall labeled: Rapture's Movers and Shakers. It's full of a hundred men and women that must have been important once. He can see himself in there, or at least someone who looks just like him. He can find the other him. He's done this before, though, so many times. Each time, though, he finds he can remember less and less about the other him. But, when he does find him, he's happy. He's a somebody!

"That's me," he whispers when he finds his face and smiles. "That's me. I-I'm there… I'm here..." His face lit up when he saw a woman's cold, steely portrait among the others. "Mother!"

 _"You're not well."_

"Again?" He huffed. "This is my alone time. Leave me alone!"

 _"You are not well!"_

"I am fine."

 _"You're dying."_

"N-No, I'm not!"

 _"A few minutes ago you were vomiting up blood."_

"I-I'm not," his voice cracked. "I'm not."

 _"You need help. Let me help you."_

He can see her slowly walking up the aisle. Her pristine white dress flows behind her, her medium length, dark brown hair bounces off her shoulders, her bright, blue eyes pierce into his soul, and in her hand is the same doll the other girls carried with them. The light coming in from the window behind her makes her look like one of the angels. Yet, she's familiar… he knew her… maybe.

 _"Take my hand,"_ she said, beaming so lovingly, so radiantly, that he doesn't hesitate. _"I'll make it better, I promise. It's all over."_ She rested her head on his shoulder, sighed in his embrace. _"Everything's okay. I'm here."_

And he believes her. She's so sincere. There's no edge to her voice, no sign of maliciousness or other motives. He's safe with her. They stay like that for minutes until her body goes limp, the bare skin on her upper back and arms turns into metal and leather, and her hand drops. She feels cold. He tries to check on her.

Her once pink lips are tinted blue, blood pours out of her mouth, eyes that were full of life are glazed over. His breath hitched. Her dress is gone and instead replaced with a Big Sister suit. She's stiff… lifeless… dead. His eyes are drawn to the gaping hole in her stomach; blood soaks the suit.

"E…Ele…"

 _"Oh, so now you remember her?"_ A mocking British voice asks, echoing in his mind. _"I thought you completely forgot, you daft bastard."_

"Leave me alone!"

 _"It was a shame what happened to you. You were a top-dog, one of Rapture's finest. Now, look at you. I get depressed watching you. Every day you sound more and more like the little ghouls. You're based in both reality and insanity, completely losing your sense of self."_

"Y-You're mean!"

 _"This is what I am talking about. To think that a once intelligent, hard-working Rapture employee is now rambling and throwing out insults like a child hurts me inside. I know you're in there."_

"Mother says I'm perfect the way I am. Other me was bad. Bad other me's go to the looking glass and get thrown down the well!"

 _"Jesus. And I thought I was mad as a hatter!"_

"Hatter? Are we having a tea party?"

There's silence between him and the voice for a second before they anxiously reply. " _I-I… no…"_ They sighed. _"I know you remember that girl,"_ they said, changing the subject. _"Who was she to you?"_

"I don't know! It hurts my brain!" He clutched his head. "Bad memories come out. Bad!"

 _"I cared about her. She was the only good thing to come from this wretched city. She was supposed to survive. She was supposed to be better than this, than all of us, and what do you do? You muck it up!"_

 _"I didn't want to!_ " he cried. " _I didn't want to hurt her! I-I never wanted to hurt her!"_

 _"Oh, so, now you remember! It becoming more clear to you, m'laddo?"_ they growled. _"You remember how she fought in your grip, huh? How she screamed when you sliced her open? How you slaughtered her like an anima? Pulled the slug right out of her stomach cavity? How was that ADAM? It feel good?"_

"No!" he sobbed as he backed away. "No!"

 _"You thought you could forget what you did, didn't you? You were so close, weren't you?"_ they jeered. _"I brought you back to reality, if briefly. One day later and you'd be just too far gone. I'll keep doing it, too. I'm not going to let you forget. I'll never let you forget."_

"I couldn't stop it! I wanted to! Oh God, I can see her! It's all coming back to me! Eleanor!"

 _"She might have had mercy on you, but I'm not so kind. I must admit there's something so satisfying seeing you like this: desperate and broken."_

He's sitting in a fetal position by the corner, rocking back and forth. The voice cackles, ready to continue the torment now that the mental fog is off his victim when something inside the other snaps. The Son stands up, a dreamy grin on his grey and green face, his glowing eyes back to being absolutely lifeless. They don't have control over him anymore. No, someone else does.

"I have to go," he begins, shambling over to the goggles and helmet he had strewn on the floor when he got sick. "Mother's calling me. Angels need me."

 _"Wait a minute! We're not done here! You get back here!"_

"Good boys help the good girls gather, and gather, and gather," he rambled to himself as he quickly climbed up the debris. "Good boys aren't allowed to be sad. No tears allowed in Mother's garden!"

 _"I'll be back!"_ they shouted as he disappeared in a huff of smoke. _"This is not over!"_

"Oh, I see the rosies again! Hello, rosies! Hello, butterflies!"

* * *

 ** _A/N: I'm back after a long ass time, I'm back. To be honest, I had some writer's block with this chapter. Earlier drafts had it all over the place. Scott was originally going to be in this, but it was already way too long._**

 ** _I imagine, being a kid, seeing something as horrifying as what happened in Coney Island is going to mess Peter up. I won't say if he quits being Spider-Man permanently, but he needs a break. Let him sleep! I also think that with everything that happened before, May's at her breaking point and rightfully so. Enabling a child to lie and taking him across the world to fight against adults without their guardian's permission is shitty. Tony could reassure that he wouldn't get hurt all he wants, there's still a risk. He's going to have to build her trust and Peter's._**

 ** _Also, we got another glimpse of Rapture and little June! What an angel! I didn't want to make the Son a complete silent, scary Winter Soldier rip-off as he originally appeared. Oh, he's scary as hell and can go into murder mode, but he's also terrifying in the "what the fuck did they do to you sort of way?"_**

 **It's obvious Alex the Great appeared this chapter and you know it's scary when he's freaked out.**


	7. Twenty-Five

_"What are you thinking about?"_

 _Cassie's doe eyes widened and her brows furrowed as she eyed her father, who sat right beside her on the bench. They were at the park not too far from her home. It was a perfect day for it; hardly a cloud in the sky. There was a slight breeze so it wasn't ungodly hot, but, yet it remained warm enough to enjoy ice-cream without shivering._

 _Besides, with the house being repaired after a giant Thomas the Tank Engine took out a good quarter of it, including her room, it provided a distraction._

 _Cassie, who usually gobbled up ice-cream as if she were a human vacuum and had to spend the next five minutes recovering from some serious brain freeze, had not once taken a bite from her bowl. She merely moved the now melting vanilla ice-cream with her spoon and stared off, watching the kids in the playground across from them screech and play. She wasn't sick- no, unlike most children she was very vocal when she didn't feel well- but, she was, however a big thinker. Once her mind began to wander it never stopped. It was as if the Energizer Bunny lived in her head._

 _"What are you thinking about?" Scott asked again._

 _She pursed her cupid-bow lips together as she continued to stare at the other children race around a few feet away. "When we're walking," she began softly, "how many ants do we kill?"_

 _Scott blinked, taken aback. "What?"_

 _"When we're walking," she repeated, "you think we kill any ants? Like, on the way from the car to here, did we accidentally step on any?"_

 _Ever since she had acquired her newest pet- a giant, nearly man-sized ant named Georgie, Cassie had become much more in tune to the plight of "pests." If hippies were tree-huggers, she was, like, an… insect-hugger if that was a thing. Well, it was one now considering how much love Georgie got. Seven-years-old and already a pioneer. He always knew she was going places!_

 _Most of her classmates didn't understand her. Having a giant pet ant certainly didn't help when it came to having play-dates. Hell, not even her mother or Paxton truly got her mind. To their credit, they tried, but she was Scott's daughter through and through. He could see himself in her; emotional and fervent when it came to causes that were worth fighting for. She was a lover of all things weird and what was considered ugly and monstrous to most was beautiful to her. Scott understood. Perhaps, the reason why they were so close was that he was the only one who did._

 _"I think the ants know they gotta move," he replied. "We're not running or anything, they got time to get away. Only idiots would stay still and let themselves be squished. We all know ants are not idiots."_

 _Was it a lie? Maybe, there were probably a couple casualties on the way here, but being Ant-Man definitely opened his eyes when it came to how intelligent insects could be. He couldn't help himself and get attached to them just as Cassie did. If they were stomped on, it was a painless death. It probably happened so fast they never even felt a thing. Of course, he still wouldn't tell her that._

 _He would never forget Ant-hony's sacrifice. Rest easy, you beautiful bastard._

 _After they finished their ice-cream and were tired of contemplating the mortality of ants, they moved on to the swings. Scott pushed her gently, both father and daughter simply taking everything in. Them being together. A few months ago, this was all just a distant dream- unlikely to happen. He had just gotten out of prison and was raking in debt, lost one minimum wage job after another, and couldn't pay a dime in child support._

 _Turned out, breaking into Hank Pym's home was the best decision he had ever made. Sure, being Ant-Man wasn't always fun. It was terrifying being smaller than a potato chip and he had a couple close calls when it came to being stepped on; the first time he rode on an ant he nearly died, but everyday was an adventure. He was never made for an office job. Being a hero? That was what he was born to do. Too bad it took him so long to realize it. The only time he ever had his doubts was when Cross broke in and nearly killed his little girl. Nothing had ever been scarier than that._

 _But, she was fine. Cross was gone, and for seeing a man be crushed to death by his own suit, Cassie didn't let it bother her. Maggie had been taking her to a therapist for a few weeks, but she wasn't all that upset by it. Scott didn't know whether to be glad or a little disturbed._

 _In a way, Hank gave him more than he could have ever dreamed- truly saved him. He gave him a second-chance, a job, opened his doors while Scott saved up for a house, and his daughter? She was pretty cool. Cassie thought so too._

 _Once he got this house, Maggie said she would arrange joint-custody. These days together would become weekends; Cassie would get her own room and even Georgie could have his own space. Every day would be a blast, he'd make sure of it. He wanted her memories of him and her childhood to be good ones, and he had a lot of making up to do._

 _Paxton even respected him now. Turns out, he was not terrible. He loved his car, a good barbecue, but he loved his family more. Maggie picked a great guy who would take a bullet for both her and Cassie, and, honestly, that was all Scott wanted. They all got along better separated, and while he and Maggie were no longer married, she was a pretty damn good friend._

 _And Ant-Man? Well, Ant-Man started showing up unannounced to a lot of crime scenes thanks to his own personal Jim Gordon. Hopefully, Luis was right about that connection from the Avengers wanting to contact him. Oh man, if he got to join the Avengers, Cassie's mind would be blown! She could meet Captain America and Iron Man! Fighting alongside them and the Hulk is when you know you've made it to the big leagues._

 _"When you get your house, we can come here more often, right?" Cassie asked as she swung._

 _"Whenever you want, Peanut."_

 _She smiled as he continued to push her. "I hope your friends visit again. They're really funny."_

 _"They're always talking about you," Scott said. "I know Luis has some stories he wants to share." Part of him dreaded that given the other man had absolutely no filters whatsoever and last time told Maggie and Paxton about when he got bit in the ass by a sea-lion while losing his virginity under a pier at the beach. They were not so amused._

 _"When can I go over the Pyms again?" she asked._

 _"I'll have to ask Mr. Pym, but, you know he likes you so much he probably wouldn't care if we swung over for a quick visit."_

 _Hank had surprisingly- well, not really- grown fond of the seven-year-old girl. With both her grandparents either on non-speaking terms or half-way across the country, he filled in as a surrogate grandfather. It was odd to see Hank so gentle and affectionate, placing her on his lap as he made ants perform tricks or explain his technology to her. Scott always thought he had an eternal stick up his ass. Perhaps, she reminded him of all that he missed by shutting Hope out so many years ago._

 _"Can Hope be my new step-mom?"_

 _He choked on his spit. "W-What?"_

 _Boy, this came out of nowhere- completely blindsided him._

 _"I really like Hope," she began, "and I just thought since Mommy is marrying Paxton, you could marry Hope…"_

 _"You want the full set, huh?"_

 _She nodded. "I'd have two moms and dads and they'd all be cool and everyone in school would be so jealous."_

 _"You know, we just started dating, like, a week ago," he laughed. "I appreciate your enthusiasm, though."_

 _"I know," she replied. "It takes some time to figure out if you really, really like each other because if you rush it you get to realize you aren't c-c-c-"_

 _"Compatible?"_

 _"Yeah! That's what happened to you and Mommy."_

 _Why did this kid have to be so mature? He sighed. "I love your mother. It's just not that kind of love anymore- not the way Paxton does."_

 _"And not the way you love Hope."_

 _"Yeah, exactly that."_

 _Scott supposed that he should have appreciated just how much his daughter loved Hope, even toying with the idea of her as a step-mother. Most kids didn't take to the idea very well, but, truly Cassie was unique. Wise beyond her years. She loved Hope and Hope thought the world of her._

 _"I'd also like Hank to be my grandpa. I like Mee-Maw but Mee-Maw doesn't like you."_

 _Oh, God. Today was supposed to be a happy day. He did not want to think about his ex-mother-in-law. Oh, Paxton, you poor bastard. She was all his problem now and Scott couldn't have been happier._

 _He was about to respond, lie about how Mee-Maw did, in fact, like him but had a really, really funny way of showing it when a little girl stepped right in front of them. He pulled Cassie back and caught her when she fell off with a cry. She may have nearly gotten Cassie's sneakers imprinted on her face but the defiant tot standing in front of them had the nerve to be scowling up at them._

 _Both father and daughter glanced at each other with raised brows as she continued to pout. She was probably no older than three with light blonde ringlet curls and huge, blue eyes. Her pink overalls were covered in dirt and grime and when she stomped her feet with her Disney Princess sneakers, it seemed as if she was trying to communicate but couldn't and was growing frustrated._

 _"Uh, can I help you?" Scott asked, unsure of what to do._

 _Demonic Shirley Temple stomped her foot again "My swing! My swing, get off!" She snatched the seat away and climbed up on it._

 _"The swing isn't yours, it's for everybody," Cassie said with a frown as she was placed down._

 _"No, no, mine!" The younger girl screeched and tried to smack her. "My swing! Mine!"_

 _"But-"_

 _"My swing! My swing!"_

 _Scott guided her away but not before giving the brat the stink-eye. "You can't reason with toddlers, Peanut," he began. "It's like trying to reason with drunks." It was true, he had plenty of experience with both toddlers and drunks._

 _Cassie shook her head. "She didn't have to be so rude. I would have gotten off if she had asked."_

 _"I know you would have," he replied, watching as the tiny terror couldn't get enough momentum and then jumped off, racing towards the sandbox. "Oh, boy."_

 _She stormed over to where a baby and his mother played. The tiny boy squealed happily as he watched his mom scoop up the grains of sand with a yellow shovel before slowly pouring it to form a pile, repeating it over and over again. Angelica Pickles on crack nearly ripped it out of her hand and tried to throw sand at the baby. Luckily, Mom was able to move him in time and it didn't get into his eyes. She then snatched the shovel back and angrily walked to the benches, her frustrated baby beginning to grunt into the crook of her neck._

 _The toddler pouted again and kicked at the sand, nearly losing her balance before moving on to the merry-go-round to terrorize her next victims: two pre-teen boys. Cassie cringed at Scott. "Was I like this when I was little?"_

 _"You had your moments, but, no. You never made your mother and I consider calling an exorcist."_

 _The worst tantrum Cassie ever had was over ice-cream when she was about four, but she had been tired at the time and that definitely did not help. When it came as to why Shirley Temple was wreaking havoc, Scott had to look no further than 'Mommy Dearest'. Seemingly, everyone but her was paying attention to her spawn. Of course, she was on her phone, probably scrolling away on her Facebook feed._

 _Of course_

 _This was a playground, not a daycare. He and Cassie both watched as the toddler tried to climb up the enclosed slide, stood on the swings, and threw more sand at poor kids. She was a star and they all watched in horror at her Oscar worthy performance. At this rate, she was going to get hurt… or worse._

 _In the corner of his eye, he could see them. They were sitting at one of the tables in the picnic area, writing on a sheet of paper with an open textbook beside them. Algebra 1. A requirement for high-school freshmen. He couldn't see their face; they wore a pink hoodie pulled all the way up, concealing it. It was mid-June, far too hot for a hoodie and the gloves and the sweatpants they wore._

 _They would write, glance up and stare down the toddler, and then take a sip of their bottle of Coke. Scott couldn't see their expression but the way their head followed her, making sure she never left their sight reminded him of a lioness stalking their prey. Maybe, they were just a teenager trying to study for finals, yet, still, every sip, every time they tapped their pencil onto the wooden table, put him more and more on edge._

 _Perhaps… Perhaps, it was time to go home._

* * *

From the time it had taken for the news to break Cassie's disappearance to the time it had taken for Scott to order the soonest non-stop flight to San Francisco, pack both he and Luis' bags, and practically drag the younger man to the van it had been fifteen minutes. Fifteen minutes. For the entirety, he had been on auto-pilot. It felt as if his mind had completely shut down. He couldn't think. He couldn't breathe. His legs felt like Jello and his stomach seemed to drop to the floor.

It had to be a joke. Please, be a joke. Not Cassie, please not her- she did nothing to deserve this. She was just a little girl! He waited, prayed for the news anchors to start laughing. Please, please, say 'sike,' but they never did. They moved on to another girl gone, then another, he could hear the mayor speaking when Luis finally turned it off. He could see her picture on the screen, though. She had grown so much since the last time he saw her nearly two years ago. Her chubby cheeks were beginning to lose their baby fat; she had already been a beautiful girl, but he could see glimpses of the woman she was going to be. She lost a couple of baby teeth. He could only hope Maggie put lots of money under her pillow; if she still even believed in the Tooth Fairy and Santa and the Easter Bunny.

Her face was so small compared to the dozens of other children displayed on screen. Twenty-five girls missing in a span of twelve hours. She had been the only one taken on the West coast. The others were from Maine all the way down to Florida with five taken from the Jersey shore. None of the reporters mentioned how sweet and funny and creative she was. How she lit up any room she walked into. How loved she was by everyone who knew her. She was just a face and a name.

Two years. He had been gone for two years, spent all those days away from her and every hour, minute, second physically pained him. As shit as things were, the only thing keeping him going while working those shit wages at McDonald's, living in that shit apartment, was that someday they'd be together again, spending more days making up for lost time on the swings at that playground. They'd get as much ice-cream as they pleased. He'd get that house and she'd get those pillow forts she wanted and they'd go to the beach and Disneyland and…

He'd have to see her again. No, no, this was not going to end like this. He was going to find her and bring her home and end this once and for all. No more families being torn apart, no more children being ripped out of their beds.

Why little girls, though? Why were they taking girls and not boys? What did these monsters possibly want from them? Why Cassie? Of all the little girls in the city of San Francisco, the state of California, and on the coast, why Cassie? Maggie and Paxton weren't rich, they didn't have money to give. They never bothered anybody. They were good people.

This was about him. It had to be about Ant-Man. Cross had made deals with HYDRA that fell through when he and the Pyms pulled that heist. Perhaps, they wanted revenge. If there was any way to get him to break, targeting his family would do it.

But, what if it wasn't HYDRA, though? No, when he was in The Raft, Stark had leaked out to that fucking bastard Ross that Clint had kids up in some secret location in the woods. He didn't trust him. Hank was right, never trust a Stark, they will always stab you in the back. If he had told Ross about Cassie, if this was from the government to get him to surrender and give the locations of the others…

If he was Stark, he'd want to get a head start by going back to that goddamn bunker in Siberia and cut off contact with the world permanently. Because Scott would find him and he'd do what he did to the last guy who tried to lay a hand on his little girl and then some.

If the Feds had wanted him, he'd rather them burst in to the apartment while he slept and take him. If it was HYDRA, he'd rather them kill him. Cassie was off limits. She did absolutely nothing to either of them. She was innocent- a little girl.

If Spider-Man barely escaped the Mariner with his life, how did a defenseless nine-year-old stand a chance? How did any of these kids? Cops skewered, burned to ashes, and they were grown-men!

He never felt so helpless in his life. Not even Hank called, which he had expected when the phone began to ring- just Kurt and Dave. He had no suit- that was given up on The Raft- and without Hank, there was no way he'd be able to take on the Mariner. He wouldn't be able to save Cassie or any of the other children. He already failed her so many times. Jesus, could he do one thing right?

All the horrific scenarios that crossed his mind made him physically ill, his heart pound, but he swallowed back the bile. He couldn't vomit and waste anytime, especially on a major highway. The first 48 hours. That's the period from when a child is first abducted to the point where, if they're going to be found, they'll be found alive. Anytime after that, you're most likely either burying them or never knowing what happened.

48 hours.

Two days to find Cassie and bring her home. Even then, there was still that uncertainty. Where did she go? They could have already killed her. If that was true, if she was gone forever, he and Maggie and Paxton had to know. Better to know than be tortured by that for the rest of your life.

Maybe, if he had just said no to Steve, turned around and went home, none of this would have happened. He'd be there to protect her. He promised her he'd never leave her again, that he'd always save her from the monsters. Now? Now, she was gone, possibly forever, and it was all his fault. He might never be able to hold her in his arms or hear those beautiful giggles again.

Luis had his phone in one hand while he buttoned his jeans with the other. The younger man had no choice but to change in the back of the van. He tumbled about, bumped his head, accidentally mooned some poor drivers beside them, and fell over several times. Scott would have felt some pity in normal circumstances but not now.

"Listen, Dave, I know you're a total badass. You are a badass, hardcore motherfucker," Luis began. "But, like, the Mariner's more badass than you. Hey, I'm sorry, I gotta say it. You decide to take on the Mariner you will die. That ain't me exaggerating. You'll be, like, a Dave-kebab."

Dave's voice came in muffled. "Listen, listen, for Scott? For Cassie? I will gladly be a Dave-kebab. Heroic sacrifices are hard-core."

"Yeah, but not if you're actively seeking them out like a jackass," Luis replied. "Cassie loves you, man, and she needs her Uncle Dave alive not being vacuumed off the beach, you know?"

They pulled into JFK airport, Luis continuing to talk to both him and Kurt while Scott rummaged through the back of the car and tossed both his bags and a baseball cap at him. Baseball caps? Might as well put on fake mustaches to complete this shitty disguise. If they had time, they could have dyed their hair.

Scott memorized every exit, security guard, every person coming in and out. Everyone was suspicious. Anyone could be a Fed. If this was a set up to get him, they'd know Cassie was gone and that he was at his most vulnerable and trying to get home. He was no Captain America but he was still a wanted man. A wanted man with a missing daughter that could easily be exploited. Only real bastards targeted a grieving father.

Ross wasn't just a real bastard, he was a heartless son of a bitch.

It wouldn't be checking in that would be a problem. No, it'd be going through the TSA that would be an absolute nightmare. All it would take is one suspicious officer, someone recognizing them as they got up close through the luggage search, pat downs, body scans, and then it would be all over. They'd be handed over to Ross and thrown right back in that fucking awful prison. He'd never see Cassie again.

All he had wanted to do was lay low. Be forgotten. That was why he had never accepted that flip-phone from Cap- which he absolutely regretted now- because this was all his problem. Running away from Cassie again, becoming a fugitive, that was all his decision. None of them put a gun to his head and forced him to join them, they gave him an opening to walk away, but he went willingly.

He'd bring Cassie back on his own. He didn't need to get others involved in his mess. The sooner he gets back to San Francisco, the sooner he can meet up again with the Pyms and form a game plan, get new tech, and hopefully find his little girl. Hank cared, he loved Cassie like she was his own, he'd know what to do.

The line for the TSA moves forward more and more by the second and he can feel his stomach twist and turn into knots. He can feel the stares of the agents, but he doesn't react. Better to not make a scene. That's what makes the alarm bells ring. Luis, however, did not have a care in the world. He hummed along to the dull, lifeless summer pop hit that played over the speakers. Having him around to spread his 'good vibes' was probably the only reason why Scott hadn't lost his mind yet.

"TSA are the dumbest motherfuckers around," Luis whispered. "They'll catch anybody but the terrorist, and, like we're not terrorists so…"

"We're still international fugitives," Scott said as they moved forward once again.

He shrugged. "Yeah, but they're wrong almost 99% of the time."

"There's still that one percent."

"Hey, don't worry," Luis replied reassuringly. "They're too busy harassing grandmas and little girls in wheelchairs to notice us. Any ass-hat can be in the TSA."

"Why do you hate the TSA so much?"

"I'm into security. I've always been interested in it: the technology, the people, what goes on behind the scenes, and the TSA does almost everything wrong." He smiled. "Hey, you know, when all this is over and we got Cassie, we should go into business together."

Scott continued to stare straight ahead but raised a brow. "Like what?"

"A security company! Us thieves know how to deter other thieves better than anyone else. You and me, Scotty, we're going places!"

They'd have to continue this conversation later. Much later. They're up now to be searched. Scott had made sure not to pack anything suspicious: no metal, no liquids, nothing to make them the center of attention. The TSA agent, a portly, older woman began to dig through the bags, pursing her lips. She could huff and puff all she wanted, she wasn't going to find anything. Scott was still anxious, though. If this was a setup, now would be the time to get the jump on them.

But, it never happened.

Instead, they walked through the metal detector and came out cleared. Their bags were handed back to them and they were sent on their merry way. Luis was cracking up as they walked to the terminals, going on and on about how he was right when it came to how stupid the TSA were. Scott wasn't so sure, though. This went well. A little too well.

He had expected the alarms to start ringing, the others in line to pull out guns and badges, but it never happened. Perhaps, he was being too paranoid. However, the only ones who got caught were those who let their guard down. They weren't paranoid enough.

He wasn't going to relax until he was home with Cassie in his arms. They weren't on the plane yet. If this was a stakeout, the Feds might want to wait until he's onboard and cornered. No way to escape a plane surrounded by cops. Not unless you had the Ant-Man suit.

They're sitting in the terminal. The plane doesn't board for another fifteen minutes. The news is playing on the large, flat screen television on the wall. Same old talking heads sit in a round table, playing the same cell-phone footage of last night over and over again, trying to make sense of it while acting as if they were experts. There were theories thrown around over what was under the helmet of that fucking thing. Human? Machine? Reporters on the scene talked to a witness who apparently saw it all. He told her he saw Stark blast at them and they bled.

Then, there was the discussion about what happened to the girls. The other people sitting around watching, murmuring to each other, still obviously shaken up over what happened at Coney Island. A little girl, not much older than Cassie had been when he last saw her, was blissfully unaware of what was going on. She played on her iPad while her mother stared up at the screen in horror. Her husband was talking to a stranger across from him.

"We thought we could keep the windows locked in her room," the father began, fidgeting in his seat. "Now, I'm wondering whether to just let her sleep with us. Not in the bed, of course, we'd get a mattress-"

The other man, gruff, older, and very much a veteran if his camo cap had anything to go by interrupted. "If I were you, brother, I'd get a gun. Get your license, get a shotgun, and you keep that sucker by your bed so it's always within reach." He leaned forward. "If you see them standing over your little girl, you blast that sonuvabitch and you don't stop firing until there is nothing left."

"I never once thought about getting a gun before this." The younger man ran a hand through his hair. "But, my wife and I feel like our daughter is no longer safe in her own home. In her own room!"

"I got all boys, myself. I don't even know how you're dealing with this. All I know is that if I were in your shoes, I'd make my bedroom more secure than Fort Knox."

"Twenty-five children in one night," one woman whispered to another. "Twenty-five little girls! If this keeps up that will be over a hundred children in a week!"

"Four hundred a month," her companion replied.

"Somebody needs to do something!"

"If our children aren't safe at home, they are not safe anywhere!"

"Why girls? Why not boys?"

"You not hear what they're saying?" an elderly lady joined into the ever growing conversation. "They say it's one giant pedophile ring! It's awful!"

"Oh my God!"

"Where are the Avengers! Why aren't they doing anything to stop this!" one man cried.

The veteran scoffed. "U.N.'s got Stark by the balls. Cap would have been on their asses already."

"Well, they're going to have to do something, right? This just can't continue?"

"They're already saying this is one of the biggest human trafficking operations in history!"

A middle-aged woman put a hand on her chest. "You know, I'm not usually for the death penalty... but, I'm sorry, people need to hang for this. To do that to a child is beyond evil! It's demonic!"

There are cheers in agreement from young and old alike. They grow more rowdy, more outraged at these events. A night ago they would have laughed at the idea of a monster taking their children from their beds. Now, they wanted the Mariner's head in a noose. There were lines that were not supposed to be crossed which united complete strangers from all walks of life: you don't hurt animals and you never, ever lay a hand on a child. In prison, they have to keep the molesters and child abusers away from the general population. Most of the inmates had kids in their life and they didn't take too kindly to those who got their kicks off hurting society's most defenseless.

Molesters, pedophiles, human trafficking rings, the anxiety that Scott had felt before intensified when he heard those words uttered. His worst nightmare. Sold like cattle, beaten and bruised. He'd rather her die than spend the rest of her life suffering through such unspeakable horrors.

The sheer thought of it alone made him ill. His heart felt as if it were going to burst from his chest, he felt bile once again rise to his throat; everyone was surrounding him, walls were closing in. He had to go. He had to leave. He couldn't hear this anymore. Not Cassie. Please, God, not her- not Peanut.

"Scott?" Luis asked, noticing the shaking of the other's hands, the sweat beads dripping down his forehead. "Scott, are you alright-"

He bolted to the bathrooms.

* * *

 _"Could you have at least called and gave me at least a five minutes head's up before knocking on my door unannounced," Hank Pym said as he took a sip of his tea with a scowl._

 _"I could have," Scott began with a shrug, "but I know you can't stay pissy when Cassie's around."_

 _The old man put his finger up to argue but upon seeing the little girl sitting pretzel-legged on the floor, happily watching T.V. his expression softened. He sighed. "No, I can not."_

 _"She wanted to visit you. You know," he smirked, "she was telling me earlier that she wants you to be her grandpa."_

 _"You're so full of shit, Scott."_

 _Scott threw his hands up. "I'm not lying, I swear!"_

 _"Oh, come on, I doubt she said that."_

 _"Would I ever lie to you?"_

 _"Once again," Hank replied with a glare, "you are full of shit."_

 _"I know, it's so hard to believe children actually like you. I thought she would run away from you screaming."_

 _There was absolutely nothing better than busting Hank's balls. Truly, the highlight of this brand new, beautiful partnership. It was an equal opportunity ball busting, though. Scott would get a good zinger in here and then Hank would respond with an even more brutal comeback. It was all friendly._

 _Most of it._

 _Cassie was entranced with the old television set. It had to be at least a good decade older than her own father. She had grown up on flat screens that grew bigger with a clearer, more vibrant picture by the year. She loved fiddling with the dials to change the channel and how the screen had so much static and faded coloring._

 _"We went to the park today, Mr. Pym," Cassie said, still engrossed in her show._

 _"Oh, well, it is a lovely day," Hank replied with a smile. "Did you have fun, little one?"_

 _She turned back and nodded. "Uh-huh! Daddy and I got ice-cream! I got a big cup of vanilla with lots of sprinkles!"_

 _"Vanilla is my favorite."_

 _"We didn't get you any." She frowned. "Sorry."_

 _"Don't apologize, dear, I have plenty of ice-cream in my freezer. I'm more of a Ben and Jerry's man myself."_

 _Scott scoffed. "Of course, you'd like Ben and Jerry's."_

 _"What is that supposed to mean?"_

 _"Overrated, overpriced, always freezer burnt…"_

 _"Oh, to hell with you, Scott!"_

 _Cassie giggled as the two adult men began to bicker back and forth with each other over something as trivial as ice-cream brands. When Hope came home, she'd join in as well, probably with a wildcard like Breyer's that both Hank and Scott would agree was even worse. They liked each other, though. Deep, deep down they liked each other._

 _She fiddled again with the dials to find the Discovery Channel. They didn't play many documentaries anymore- Cassie had always liked the ones about animals- instead, the car shows that Paxton watched seemed to be on 24/7. They were boring. She could have cared less. Naked and Afraid was on, though, and while the concept of the show was pretty stupid, she was in it more for nature and survival tips._

 _Why someone would spend a month naked in mosquito filled swamps or the hot African sun for no money, she didn't understand. People do stupid things to try to prove to themselves that they're special._

 _"Ben and Jerry's is delicious. It's not freezer burnt unless you let it get freezer burnt."_

 _"I mean, if you like paying exorbitant amounts for mediocre ice-cream, that's all on you. I'm not judging._

 _"Wow, Scott, that is quite possibly the most passive-aggressive thing I have ever heard and that is honestly saying a lot."_

 _"Listen-"_

 _The screen cut to black as a piercing loud, shrill beeping began to play, startling Cassie. The little girl jumped and ran over to her father with a cry before burying her face into his shirt. The two men stopped arguing to turn their attention towards the T.V._

 _Amber Alert._

 _Another shrill, lower beep cut before an eery, robotic voice spoke. "The San Francisco Police Department is looking for Waverly Barks, a three-year-old, white female. Date of birth: June 11th, 2012. Approximately three feet and thirty pounds with curly blonde hair and blue eyes. She was last seen at Washington Park-"_

 _Oh no._

 _Oh, dear Lord._

 _Scott knew who this was. As soon as they said, Washington Park, he knew exactly who they were talking about. His heart dropped. Oh, Jesus, he had a bad feeling. He had been worried before that something was going to happen to her. He just never thought it actually would. They showed the toddler's face as the text continued to roll. Cassie gasped and held on to him tighter._

 _"She was last seen walking away from the playground, holding hands with the suspect. Suspect is described as a teenager between the ages of thirteen to fourteen years old, approximately seven feet tall and less than ninety pounds, and wearing a pink hoodie, sweatpants, and a black backpack. The suspect is speculated to be a teenage girl. If found, do not approach and call 9-1-1."_

 _Oh, God. He was there just twenty minutes ago, he had watched them stare her down. They were stalking her. They were waiting for the perfect moment to strike and when he was gone they finally had their chance. A teenager. What had a teenager wanted with a toddler? A misunderstanding, maybe. Yeah, that had to be it._

 _"Seven foot tall at fourteen?" Hank sounded flabbergasted. "That's impossible." He noticed the father and daughter. "Scott?"_

 _"We were just there," Scott murmured. "We just saw that little girl."_

 _"Don't blame yourself, Scott," Hank said softly._

 _"I saw the person who took her," he continued, "they were watching her while they did their homework. I didn't think they were going to…"_

 _The older man shook his head. "A child is the last person you'd assume would kidnap another child. How were you supposed to know this was going to happen? It could be a kid deciding to show her something and then they got lost or something along those lines."_

 _"I saw them, Hank. There was something off about them…"_

 _Cassie teared up and let out a sniffle. She was immediately comforted by both Scott and Hank, of course, but it didn't help ease her fear. She sobbed._

 _"Peanut, Peanut, Peanut," Scott whispered soothingly into her ear as he rubbed her back. "It's okay, sweetie. It'll be okay."_

 _"I saw her!"_

 _"We did. We both did."_

 _"And now she's just gone! What's going to happen to her?"_

 _"Don't worry, they're going to find her."_

 _Hank smiled. "I bet you she'll be home in time for bed tonight."_

 _"You know how hard Paxton and all them work. They're not going to stop until she's back with her mom and dad."_

 _She turned her head away from his shirt, revealing the stains of snot and tears, and stared up at him with large, bloodshot eyes. She sniffled again as he wiped away a tear stuck on her cheek. "Daddy, you gotta promise me something, okay?"_

 _"Of course, Peanut."_

 _"Promise me, you won't let any monsters take me away."_

* * *

Scott splashed himself again with cold water from the sink. 'Keep it together,' he chanted in his mind like a mantra over and over again. 'No distractions, no what-ifs. Positive thoughts, happy thoughts.' It was hard to keep positive thoughts when you had every major news organization and everybody and and their mother theorizing your daughter was being forced into a pedophile ring.

You can't keep happy thoughts when there's a goddamn pedophile ring!

He had to keep his shit together. Any sign of weakness kept him open to get caught, he gets caught, and Cassie's chances are good as done. She needed him. She needed him to be tough and the superhero she believed he was.

Was she scared? She had to be so scared. He was breaking down over what could have been, then there was her actually living it. She was so brave. She was the real hero. The least he could do was get his shit together. He couldn't cry and breakdown, he had no right to.

The toilet in the stall to the very end of the bathroom flushes, the door slowly opens, and out stands a gentleman with light red hair. He wore a fancy suit, making him stand out as if he wasn't from this century. He looked as if he were from the old photographs of great-great-great grandparents his mother had in the house when he was a kid. He fiddled with his green tie and his cufflinks before making his way to the sinks. When Scott had entered, all the stalls were empty. He had never seen this man come in. Unless, he was so far gone in his nervous breakdown, but even that was unlikely.

The Gentleman washes his hands gracefully beside Scott, ignoring how much of a mess the other man was compared to him. No eye-contact was made between them. He did not acknowledge Scott's existence.

"There are ants."

Scott had been just about ready to leave when finally the Gentleman spoke with a deep, smooth British accent. He turned his head, his eyes like saucers. "What?"

"There were ants at my stall," he stated, pointing to the end of the room.

And, so Scott looked. Ants? That's when it hit him. He bolted to the back, nearly throwing the door off its hinges from the sheer force of swinging it open. His fears began to briefly fade away and were replaced with a grin that went from ear-to-ear.

There were the ants, standing in formation obediently by his suit, which lay folded by the toilet. He'd note how gross this was later. Hank, you amazing bastard. You glorious, pissy sonuvabitch. Scott would shout for joy if he could.

But when he went to thank the Gentleman, he found no one. No one but him, his ants, and his suit.

* * *

 ** _A/N: This is very much over-do and I am so sorry. Life kinda got in the way, I took a summer course I shouldn't have, but I'm free now! We're going in! Shit is getting real._**

 ** _When it comes to questions over this being in_** ** _Infinity War's timeline, no Infinity War is not happening here. I was, like, "should I make this go with Infinity War" and then I watched Infinity War. So, Thanos is still looking for the stones. Will he find them? I don't know. Rapture is kind of the big problem right now._**

 ** _It's really hard to write Scott in these situations because Ant-Man movies are so lighthearted. They're just constantly joking with each other, especially him. I did some research on how parents react to their children being kidnapped, but even, I'm not a parent so I don't really know, but I hope this worked out. There's a lot of fear there and he needs answers. Good news, Scott, it's not a pedo ring. Bad news, Scott, you're still really, really not going to like what you find out._**

 ** _Also wanted to explore how the public is reacting to the disappearances. I think there'd be fear, yep, but there's also a lot of anger. How can you just go into people's homes and steal their children? I think most people would be pissed. Really, really pissed. Big Sisters might have to come face to face with people fighting back for the first time._**

 ** _"TSA are the dumbest motherfuckers out there..."_**

 ** _\- Luis, 2018 (I'm sure he will not regret saying that)_**


	8. Man's Best Friend

Cindy had never really been in the dating scene as a young adult. She neither had the time or patience to truly commit herself in a long-lasting relationship. Her mother had wanted her to have the classic traditional family with the hard-working husband who would be the breadwinner, her to drop everything to become the stay at home mother and dote on the little ones while the dog ran around the white picket fence. Yeah, no thanks. The friends she had growing up all moved on with their lives and tried having that dream with half of them up to their head in child support, student loans, and bills from their lawyers. They stopped talking to her as they all took their own paths in life.

Still, Cindy had tried to make her mother happy. She went on a couple dates with the men she knew on the force and the local cops she had gotten acquainted with while on the job. Brought them home for Thanksgiving, each holiday marking a visit from a new man before she completely gave up. There was no attraction between her and any of her 'suitors.' Hell, it was more of an agreement between them to show up, force themselves to put up with her family for a few hours, get a free meal, and then hopefully never talk about it again when it was all over.

It gave Mom the illusion that maybe she would settle down and give her the grandchildren she had always wanted. It made Cindy finally realize it wasn't her having to find the 'right' man that was the problem. All this time, it was the comfort of women that she was after all along. None of her partners stayed around for long, though.

In the end, they'd always be second to her job.

All the men she had briefly went out with were all the same. Mostly rookies in their respective unit who thought they were the hot shit. Wannabe John McClain's who thought they were starring in their own summer blockbuster. That was her own fault, she supposed. All of them thought their jobs were the hardest and most draining. They could be working a desk job filing paperwork or a meter maid, but, without them, the city wouldn't be able to function. Of course, not all of them were so easy. Cindy could admit that were plenty of times where cops and agents put their lives on the line, especially when working in the cities.

K-9, Cyber, Drug, Counterfeit, SWAT, of all her dates, none ever considered how she, in fact, had the most difficult position of them all. She wasn't diffusing bombs, no. She wasn't negotiating hostage situations or going undercover on a drug bust, either.

But, you never, ever forget that first little body. It stays with you for the rest of your life, makes sure you never forget no matter how hard you try. Every computer brought in to be searched for evidence destroys more and more of your faith in humanity, revealing the unspeakable. The ones who were supposed to love and protect you become your executors. The world was monstrous, and while most could keep up that illusion that there were no boogeymen, Cindy stared them down more times than she ever wished. She had since she was six-years-old.

Most of her peers didn't last long. Every child crime unit she had been on had a turn over rate of about six months to a year. CARD was no different. Rookies, who come in so cocky and sure of themselves, break down after their case and move on to another unit or resign altogether. The rare old timers who stay around are so jaded and scarred that turning the gun on themselves is a nearly monthly occurrence. In their minds, it's the only way they'll ever be free from the horrors they've seen.

Cindy would say she was pretty desensitized after thirty years on the job. There were always those rough, sleepless nights where her only relief was a bottle of gin as she cried until she had no more tears to shed. She cared. She cared about each and every child, got invested in the hundreds of cases that came her way. To last as long as she had, though, at some point you had no choice but to know your limits and step back. To take those vacation days, to give a case to someone else, to stop before you get to your breaking point.

Cindy, however, was not going to stop now. Not when, at this point, she was the only one who could save these girls. It was just…

Interviewing the parents was the hardest part of all. The corpses, the disgusting, revolting evidence sick fucks would leave behind, nothing could compare to having to sit down and face the loved ones. It was personal. Too personal for Cindy's liking.

Standing outside of the Paxton-Lang home filled her with dread. Her stomach twisted into knots as she walked up the pathway, past the reporters that crowd around police barricades placed on the street and the officers who circle around the front lawn, scanning every blade of grass for evidence. When they notice her, she is swarmed by both parties for answers. They can hound her with as many questions as they please but she gives them nothing.

She has nothing.

The police chief is standing on the front porch and greets her with a hand outstretched when she is near enough. He's shaken up. As stoic as he appears to be, from the sheen of sweat on his forehead to the gnawing of his lip every minute or so, Cindy can tell he's barely holding it together. It's a shock, of course. No one in a million years thought this would happen- not here.

"This is pretty personal," he begins awkwardly, wiping his upper lip with his sleeve. "Girl's step-father is one of our own."

Cindy hummed in agreement as she examined the toys that laid scattered on the table: a water-gun, a box of sidewalk chalk, and a little pink and purple bicycle helmet. Cassie had been running out here less than twenty-four hours ago, riding her bike and drawing on the driveway. Seeing her belongings, Cindy could get a glimpse at who the girl was, and it made her all the more real. Not just a name and a face.

"Not to say that we're caring more about this case because of that," he said after a moment. "Of course, we're putting in the same effort we would for any other child. It's just…"

"You know her," she interrupted. "There's going to be a bias towards her, don't try convincing me otherwise. You're all emotionally involved in some way." She understood the almost frat like mentality cops had. It wasn't so different from the FBI. You go after one, you go after them all. In the cases she had been involved in before involving cops and their children, the police always had the same reaction of putting them as a top priority. It was just the way things were.

Hell, she would be a hypocrite to say Cassie wasn't one of her biggest concerns right now, either.

He sighed. "She comes to the functions every once in a while, Paxton brings her to the station sometimes. I met her twice, maybe? A couple of the guys he's buddies with know her real well, like his partner, Gale." The chief put his hands on his hips and stared at the ground in disbelief. "They're good people, you know? Jim's one of our best and Maggie's such a nice lady and everyone who knows Cassie loves her. She's a good little kid." He's rambling now, beginning to come undone.

"Why does it happen to anyone?" Cindy replied.

"Good luck trying to talk to the mother." He opened the door and motioned her inside the house after regaining his composure. "She's… She's upset."

"I'd be concerned if she wasn't."

He nods and seems ready to reply when the reporters outside grow more and more disruptive. Now beginning to harass officers coming in and out of the home and breeching dangerously closer and closer into the crime scene. They shouldn't be here. The last thing grieving parents need is to have dozens of microphones and cameras shoved into their faces while their misery is exploited for views and profit. The police chief is just as aggravated as she is at the sheer audacity of it all and waved her off before shutting the door, going out to confront them.

She was no stranger to the media. She had worked some pretty high profile cases before and, sadly, anything involving children drew them in like moths to a flame. People cared more, tuned in for updates, and that meant higher ratings and higher ratings meant more money for executives. And a phenomenon such as this? A wet dream for every journalist. A story like this doesn't come around often, but when it does, they're going to milk that cow until it's dust. Shape a gripping narrative of horror, suspense, and tragedy that will keep viewers tuning in hour after hour for more. Whatever, a person has to put food on the table, but seemingly none of these newshounds had any human decency and were a pain in the ass to the law enforcement trying to work the case and the families trying to cope with the unthinkable. The know-it-all, so-called 'experts' that the major networks had on right now spouting bullshit theories on an issue they knew nothing about just made her job all the more difficult.

She walks by the forensic teams, who have completely taken over the kitchen and dining room with their equipment, as she makes her way to the living room. Officers bustle about, so focused on their own matters that they don't even notice her.

God, she did not want to be here. She'd rather be anywhere but here. Hell, even the beach was preferable to this. In a perfect world, she'd be without a job. The world wouldn't need her. She wouldn't have to come to these now broken homes and more often than not be a bad omen. A grim reaper who's presence foreboded only pain and heartbreak.

Seeing the mother in person and the terror in her eyes, hearing her anguished wailing, her husband trying his best to comfort her and remain strong for her sake, but barely holding it together, Cindy's heart broke. Not just for them, though. As she watched them from the archway, it was like as if she stepped into a time machine and was brought back to 1967. To her mother. To her father. She wasn't there, of course, when they discovered her missing from her bed, but yet she can still see them vividly through this poor couple.

The officers that had responded all those years ago were callous. They had no stake in this. Going through the motions was all they did. They didn't know. They didn't believe in monsters that were under the sea, and when her father tried to tell them the truth, he was labeled a mad man and locked away into a padded room. After a few weeks, everyone but him gave up on her and all moved on with their lives.

There was always one thing that stuck with her over the past thirty years, and though she may have changed for better or worse, her stance on this never wavered: to always treat the parents the way she wished hers were.

She's noticed not by the family but instead another officer. who stood guard over them. A close friend, no doubt. He made his way over and shook her hand solemnly. "You from CARD?" he asked.

"Yeah," she replied with a nod, pulling out her badge. "And you?"

"I'm Gale." He paused to stare back at the couple sitting on the couch. "I'm Jim's partner."

"I assume you know them well, then?"

There's a moment of silence between the two as he puts his hands in the pockets of his jeans and shakes his head in disbelief. "Y-Yeah, I do," he stammers. "Jesus Christ, I saw her just last night… I stopped by real quick after dinner to drop off something and everything was fine. She was laying right there," he said, pointing to the carpet, "and playing the PlayStation."

"Anything else you remember?"

"I talked to her a bit, you know? She was telling me how she was going to try to beat the game tonight. Some real weird one with Disney characters and a big ass key? I didn't know what the hell she was talking about but she was all into it." He sighed. "Sorry, this probably isn't helping you much."

Cindy's brows raised at the console resting on the TV stand and the games neatly organized on the shelf beside it. She noted mentally the titles, the numerous stickers on the PlayStation, building on more to the profile she already had of the girl. Knowing her likes and her personality will make it easier to interview the parents. Hopefully, it will get them to open up more.

She knew enough about them, though. Possibly better than they knew themselves.

"Jim, she's the one the FBI sent over."

She's brought out of her thoughts by Gale, who is now conversing with Jim. He's completely frazzled. It had been less than twelve hours, yet he resembled a man who hadn't slept in days with his unkempt hair and dark, heavy bags under his bloodshot eyes. His wife is even worse for wear.

"I'm Agent Meltzer." She smiled softly as she introduced herself. "But, I'd prefer if you just called me Cindy."

He eyed her with unease. "Jim Paxton."

"I think everything is going to go smoother if we all go by a first name basis, that's all," she said to clear up his confusion.

"Uh… okay…" He replied before going back to the couch to comfort his wife. "Maggie, honey," he whispered as he wrapped his arms around her and rubbed soothing circles on her back. "This is Cindy from the FBI. You mind talking to her?"

The blonde nodded slowly, blowing her nose in a drenched tissue. "Y-Yeah," she mumbled. "O-Okay."

"Listen, if you begin to feel overwhelmed let me know." Cindy pulled over a chair and sat down across from them. "I want you, though, to go back to yesterday and tell me everything. If you're comfortable, of course." She reached into the pocket of her blazer and took out her notepad and pen. "From when you put Cassie to bed to the moment you knew she was gone."

The younger woman hesitates. Her lip quivers as her eyes well up with tears once more.

"Take your time," Cindy stresses, resting her hand gently on the other's leg. "Begin only when you're ready."

"Okay…"

* * *

"You alright, man? You just ran off and I was getting nervous cause we're boarding, like, now and if you didn't come back I would have had to go on without you and-"

"We're back."

"What do you mean ' _we're back?'_ " Luis asked exasperatingly. "Dude, we haven't even gotten on the plane!"

Scott had run off an ashen, frantic mess just a good twenty minutes ago, yet here he was now, walking back like he owned the fucking place. A far cry of how he was before. At least, how he should have been. Luis was just a teensy-tiny bit concerned. What did he do in the bathroom to get, like, an adrenaline high?

Oh, yep, he got a blow job. That was it. You know, his cousin Ignacio, was on his way to Florida once for spring break a few years back and when he was taking a shit some dude from the stall offered a free BJ. He took it. He later said it was the best one of his life.

You gotta cope, you know? Do what you gotta do, Luis wasn't going to judge.

He winked and gave a thumbs up. "I see. Yeah, I see what you did! Good for you, Scotty!"

The other blinked. "I didn't tell you yet. What did I do?"

"You know, you got… services."

Scott rolled his eyes and grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, pushing him so close to him Luis' nose was practically touching his chest. A teenage boy walking by with his parents stopped to stare at the two men, cringing slightly. Scott quickly unzipped his sweatshirt as discreetly as possible, showing off the Ant-Man suit that was under it.

"Oh, Scotty!" Luis cried before being shushed harshly. "Oh, Scotty, dude, what the hell?" He smiled wide. "How the fuck?"

"Hank," Scott replied, slightly grinning himself. "It was in the stall."

"How did he manage to pull this off?" Luis poked his chest in awe, his eyes like saucers. "You can't leave that in the bathroom!" He paused. "Wait, how did he even know we were here?"

Scott said, "Listen, when I first went in, there was no one else in that room but me." He glanced back at the bathroom doors. "But, then this guy just popped out of no where. Came out of the stall in the very back. Where the suit was."

"How'd he get in there, though?"

"That's what I'm trying to figure out," he replied. "There was no one in there but me, I'm sure of that. But, I would have heard him come in."

Luis rubbed his chin before holding his index finger up in the air. A lightbulb going on in his head. "What if, like, he was wearing the suit, right? And was already in there, but he changed out real quick and grew back-"

"You need to be normal sized to get out of the suit."

"Oh," the younger man frowns, his shoulders slumping. "What he'd look like?"

"Like he walked right out of those old Coca Cola tins your cousin has."

"That's funny, dude, that you mention that because there was this lady standing outside the door, right?" Luis began. "And, she was all fancy. Like, crazy dapper." He grinned and stared down at the floor. "And crazy, stupid fine…"

Scott rubs his temples with a sigh.

"What? Listen, you know that well-dressed women get me weak. And she was British. British accents boost that hotness score up, like, a thousand percent for me-"

"He was British."

"With a voice as smooth as molasses?"

"Yeah, actually."

Luis threw his arms up. "Damn it! I can't compete with that suave motherfucker!"

* * *

There's an awkward silence between the three adults in the living room, the only sound being the scribbling of Cindy's pen on the small notepad. She writes everything they say. Even the most unimportant details such as what and when little Cassie had breakfast could become useful at a later time. Thirty years of doing this taught her to never underestimate or leave anything out. Once Maggie started, she never stopped, though, and the only break her aching hand got was when the younger woman got out of breath from going a mile a minute.

Sometimes, she was unintelligible from breaking down once more, but she never needed a moment to recollect herself. Wouldn't take that moment given. She had a story and damn did she want it to be told. Great for Cindy, not so great for her poor husband who tried to calm her.

"And your ex-husband?" Cindy asked. "Is he in the picture at all?"

She shook her head. "No. Well, you know, he got jammed up again in the system and-"

"We're trying to help him, though," Paxton interrupted. "It's complicated."

"Yeah, but he's not a bad guy," Maggie said. "People have been throwing dirt on his name but they're all wrong. He's really a good man and father."

The older woman put her hand up. "I don't care what Scott did, believe me. All this drama with The Avengers, I don't care. I have no opinion on it." The couple relaxed slightly. "I just wanted to know if he knew about this, that's all."

"I'm sure he does," Paxton said, "it's all over the news."

Maggie's eyes widened and her grip on her husband's hand tightened. "You're not going to arrest him, are you? He's got a warrant and if he comes back here-"

"No! God, no!" Cindy cried. "I'm not some hack. I just wanted to know because maybe I can get in contact with him."

"We don't know where he is," Maggie replied abruptly, still on edge. "None of us have had any contact with him for two years now."

"Listen, I'm not trying to talk down to you. I understand you're upset. This has been the worst day of your life, and given who I am, you have every right to be suspicious of me, but I promise I only have your daughter's best interest in mind."

"Upset?" Maggie asked. Her doleful face going briefly completely expressionless before beginning to shift into a glowering scowl. "Upset?"

"Maggie, honey, please-"

She bolted up, pointing at the FBI agent accusingly. "I am more than upset, okay? My heart is broken, I am furious, and everyone has been treating me as if I'm some kind of fucking china that's about to break at any moment!" Maggie snapped. "My daughter has been kidnapped by some fucking monster that killed god knows how many people last night, every fucking idiot and their mother is on TV right now, exploiting my little girl, and I'm supposed to be- what- okay with that?"

"Of course not."

"My phone has been getting spammed by tabloids and reporters from all over the goddamn place before the police even arrived, ready to make me some kind of fucking poster child!" she continued, seemingly never taking a breath and not stopping for anyone. "I'm wondering what the hell we did to deserve this? Who the hell took my Cassie? And where are they? Because so help me I will hunt them down myself and blow their fucking head off if it is the last thing I do!"

Jim put a hand on her shoulder. "Honey, please, calm down."

"I'm not calming down until my baby is home and that- whatever the hell it is- is back rotting in the bottom of the ocean. Them and their little sicko buddies." She ran a hand through her hair. "Mom can't get here soon enough." she muttered to her husband.

It was a sudden mood swing, no doubt, and if anybody else had been sitting there, they would have been taken back by an outburst that could only be compared to Mount Vesuvius erupting. Not Cindy, however. When it came to the loss of a child, parents were irrational. Emotions were high. Just a few hours ago, Maggie's daughter was sleeping in her bed. Now, she was gone. Cindy took it all with a smile and made sure to never make it seem that it was the mother that was in the wrong. That she was 'unstable' or 'losing it.'

Thirty years of doing this gave her the patience of a saint.

"I'm going to do everything in my power to make sure your daughter is home," Cindy assured her. "I promise."

"You know how many people have told me that today?" Maggie asked. "And I could tell they were all full of shit."

"Do you think I'm full of shit?"

The blonde hesitated for a moment, making eye contact with the older woman briefly before turning her head away. She took a breath before saying, "No."

"I took this case because, let me tell you, the guy who was supposed to be coming? He was drowning in bullshit," Cindy said. "I care, believe me. I care."

She slowly stood up and stared at the bottom of the steps. The couple watches as she motions her head upwards, her eyes narrowing. "I want to see her bedroom."

* * *

Boarding is normal. At least, as normal as it is supposed to be, which somehow makes Scott more anxious. It's funny, even with his suit back and on him, it hasn't done much to quell his anxiety. There's a sinking feeling in his stomach that is only getting stronger with every passing second the plane is still. The tension in the air is so thick it's nearly suffocating. Not even Luis can ignore it, and his normally jovial self is silent, nervously playing games on his phone in an attempt to remain calm.

It wasn't a coincidence that Hank gave him the suit, no. Something was about to go down. He knew.

The passengers around them are aware as well. After waiting for over forty-five minutes now, they're murmuring to each other and voicing complaints to the flight attendants, wondering if or when they were going to take off.

"We'll be taking off shortly," Scott can hear a flight attendant say to a rather frustrated older man. They're faint given the amount of noise at this point, but he can make her out. "We have to remove a passenger, that's all."

"For what? Nobody's causing any problems here."

"For you and everyone else's safety I cannot disclose that information at this moment."

Well, fuck. The jig was up.

Goddamn it, Scott knew this was going to happen. The moment they pulled up, he knew they were going to get caught, but no, he was being "paranoid." Poor Scotty, he had no idea what he was talking about! Everything's fine! TSA are the dumbest motherfuckers alive!

And now they were cornered on an airplane.

His once cocky companion isn't so sure anymore. Long are the ramblings of how stupid airport security is. Instead, he's hunched over and quiet, desperate to sink into the seat. There's a hint of fear in his eyes.

While escaping a confined space such as an airplane would be nigh impossible for anyone else without a few casualties, with the Ant-Man suit, he can easily hide himself into every nook and cranny, smuggle himself on someone else's luggage, or even call on an ant and fly out the door with none the wiser.

Luis didn't have such luck. Gazing out the window and seeing the sheer amount of cop cars and FBI trucks surrounding the plane, Scott's heart dropped to the floor. There was no way to escape. He had led his best friend to his end. Luis remained loyal by his side through the worst- caused by Scott's own doing- and this was the thanks he would get. A cold cell, for his sake, in federal prison.

He wouldn't last a day in that hellhole underwater.

"Looks like our luck has run out, huh?"

The younger man, however, has seemingly accepted his fate now. His fear washes away back to overconfidence and inextinguishable positivity. He leaned back in his chair with his hands on the back of his head, completely relaxed. "Not your luck, Scotty," he says with his eyes closed.

"I'm not leaving you," Scott snapped.

"Listen," he began, "you got a daughter you gotta bring home and you can't do that in a Guantanamo on the bottom of the ocean, can you?" He shrugged. "I can take the fall for you, don't worry about it."

"Are you insane?" Scott hissed.

"You'd be for staying."

"We're going home together. Come on, don't become a fucking martyr on me, you hear?"

Luis pouted. "I'm not the martyr! You're the martyr!" He crossed his arms. "I'm giving you an opening. You come on! Get the hell out of here!"

"No, you were a free man! You served your time and could've done anything you wanted, but you dropped everything to become a fucking war criminal with me! Jesus Christ, why?"

Luis frowned. "To be honest, after my mom died, and my girlfriend left me, and my dad got deported, you getting out of prison was the only thing I had looking forward to," he replied sadly, twiddling his thumbs. "I had the van, you know, but, like, what's the point of having it if I don't have my best friend to enjoy the drives with me, you know? A-And, you know, without you I'd still be stuck still robbing smoothie machines at 7-11's, but you gave my life meaning Scott!"

Scott stared at him as he continued, his lip a straight, thin line.

"We did that heist at Pym Technologies! We stopped Cross! I can say my best friend is a superhero! Name one other person you can say that, you know? I can't!" he continued. "My best friend fought Tony Stark and kicked his ass! But, the best part of it all, was that you allowed me to be a part of your family." He grinned. "And, sure, Hank and Hope and Paxton and Maggie don't like me but you know what? Cassie does and that's all that matters. I'm her honorary uncle, and as her honorary uncle, I would go to jail with a smile for her!"

"Luis, come on…"

"What I'm trying to say," he finishes, "is that I would ride or die with you. That's what brothers do, you know? For Cassie!"

A sweet heart to heart moment for sure and Scott appreciated the sentiment from his "brother," but if Luis thought it was going to sway him to leave the other behind, he was sadly mistaken. If anything, it just made Scott more determined to get them both out of this. No way was he going to throw him to the wolves. He was right; he was family, and what would Cassie do without her Uncle Luis?

Luis was so proud of himself, too. He's beaming with his hands on his hips as he puffs his chest out triumphantly as if he gave a pep-talk worthy of Steve Rogers. How unfortunate for him that his attempted heroic sacrifice was not going to work out the way he hoped it would.

Oh well, he'd thank him later.

Scott couldn't just plant a Pym Particles Disk on him and ride off on an ant together into the sunset. Without the helmet of the Ant-Man Suit, shrinking to that level would give him permanent brain damage. However, the only other way out would be through one of the emergency exits, but that was completely surrounded by the feds.

There had to be a way, though. As he always used to tell Cassie, never panic until all options have been exhausted. His poor little girl. The only comfort he had was that she gave that fucking thing hell to the very end. She wouldn't have gone down without a fight, and boy, could she put up one.

"Refreshments, sir?"

A woman's voice- velvety with a British accent- draw the two friends out of their plans. When Scott looks up, he sees a familiar face. Yet, at the same time, she was not. Piercing blue eyes, a sharp, freckled face shaped by auburn hair put up in a loose bun. He knew her, but, at the same time never met her before. She stares down at them, her expression stern and cold as she grips onto the refreshment cart.

A small, bright orange glass bottle rests on a plate with a cup beside it. It had an intricate design, something that none of them had ever seen before. The cap was a highly detailed, sculpted cowboy riding a wild stallion.

Luis is giggling like a school girl with her first middle school crush, and when the woman notices him, she exhales slowly with closed eyes. "Hey, beautiful," he begins, "I remember you, baby. Damn, girl," he continues looking over at her flight attendant uniform, "I didn't know you were working on here."

"Do… Do you want a beverage, sir," she says through gritted teeth. It's as if she's being coached. "I suggest our newest drink. If you're able to handle it, that is."

Luis leaned back on the seat with his arm hanging down in the saddest attempt of being suave that Scott had ever seen. "Please, baby girl, look at me! You think I can't hold my liquor? I'm a wine connoisseur! This is my passion!"

The older man had to turn his head. The second hand embarrassment was too much at this point. Here they were, about to get swarmed by the feds at any moment, and he was hitting on a stewardess.

"Well, then," she replied, trying to hide her irritation, "I suppose you will enjoy this, then. I'd… love to hear your opinion on it."

"Y'know, I'm thinking maybe- if you're interested, of course- I can take you wine tasting." Luis smirked, either not noticing her chagrin or truly desperate. "Cause, like, I don't want to brag, but I'm pretty big in the tasting community and we can get a nice dinner and it'll be-"

The British woman glanced by the bathrooms in the back, seemingly waiting for her next cue, before smiling awkwardly. "Oh, you!" She put a hand over her mouth and giggled, though to Scott it sounded more like sobs. "You are so charming!"

Luis' eyes widened as his lips pursed. He couldn't believe it. Maybe, he would manage to seduce the woman of his dreams after all. Hey, if he was going to jail, he might as well go out with a bang.

"Really?"

"Yes, really!" she exclaims. It sounds physically pained. "I l-love a man with a taste for the finer things in life."

"I mean, like, I'm into the arts, too," he stammered before regaining his Casanova act. "You know what painting you look like, baby?"

"No, tell me."

"The Birth of Venus because, baby girl, you're a goddess."

Scott swore she saw her eye twitch from the view he got through his hands, which at this point, were ready to be fused into his face. Was this really how they were going to go down? With his best friend trying to get some before a life sentence at underwater Guantanamo.

"Come to the back with me," the stewardess says, playing with the helm of her skirt obnoxiously. "I," and there's a long pause in which she has to force the words out, "I want to get to know you better."

Luis looks as if he's ready to have a stroke right there in the seat. He turns his head to Scott like a deer in headlights, waiting for an answer from the other, and when he gets a groan in reply, he stares back at the British woman. He gasps over and over again, reminiscent to a fish out of water.

"Baby girl," he whispers, taking her in. "Girl, don't you gotta do your job?"

"Plane's delayed," she said, motioning towards the bathroom. "They just have to remove a passenger, but that will take a while. I was thinking until then we could… you know." She picked up the glass bottle with a smirk. "I'll bring this to the back," she whispered, "I'll close the curtain, we'll go to the bathroom, drink, and-"

"Oh, baby girl, say no more!" Luis cried, jumping out of his seat. "Let me tell you what, this is the best day of my life, for real," he began as he grabbed her by the waist and walked with her down the aisle. "Not a great day for my friend, Scotty, though. Kinda makes me feel bad that I'm having such a good time and he's not right now-"

"Aw," she said, her voice growing faint as they went further and further away from Scott's hearing range. "You're such a good friend."

"You're too sweet, honey bunny. Hey, anyway, what's your name?"

Scott is ready to go back there himself and end this before it gets them both locked up, but from the corner of his eye, he can see another familiar face. That of his savior from the airport bathroom. The one who gave him his suit. Scott has no choice but to let him and his twin work their seeming magic because, without them, the two friends weren't getting out of this; possibly even alive.

He's curious now, though, about the contents of the ornate, orange bottle that was taken to the back with them. Scott could only get a glimpse of the name of it from the tag that hung around the neck of the sculpted horse, written in cursive so precise and intricate that it was outdated. In a world where cursive wasn't even taught in schools and hadn't been for the past decade, it was ancient.

 _Bucking Bronco._

* * *

"So, this is her room?"

Cindy doesn't need an answer, and she doesn't get one from either Maggie or Jim, but before even approaching the room she knows. The door- whatever isn't covered in police tape- is decorated with flowers, cartoon animals with freakishly large, googly eyes, and Disney characters. Hanging on the knob is a custom-made, pink sign with her name neatly printed out in bold, black ink and read "Cassie's Corner."

It's such a little girl's room. If she was six again, Cindy would have been green with envy at Cassie's setup. Of course, she only imagined what it looked like because it didn't resemble a child's bedroom anymore. Instead, a war zone. The lamp, which was supposed to rest on the nightstand, laid broken a few feet away. She could see exactly how the girl tried to escape with the way the blankets dragged on the left side of the bed, up to the door.

Every crime scene tells a story, this was no different, and you didn't have to be a rocket scientist or veteran investigator to put two and two together on what happened just a few hours ago. If the scattered Thomas the Tank Engines, lamp, tossed furniture, and the baseball bat on the ground meant anything, it meant that the nine-year-old gave her abductor hell. Everything in that room had been a potential weapon to Cassie.

You can't fight a Big Sister, though. And as much as Cindy had to applaud her for her bravery, the scene by the window was like every other case she had seen. The nail marks on the window sill, the pool of dried blood on the pink carpet leading out, the leather and stained cloth resting in the middle of it-

Wait.

"I don't know how I couldn't have heard it," Jim muttered as the older woman stepped inside, ignoring the forensic scientists and photographers. "How the fuck did I not hear?"

Cindy grabbed a pair of disposable gloves from one of the scientists and knelt down by the blood pile. She picked up what had been a leather buckle, now shred to pieces, the already dirty, cream cloth stuck to it was almost entirely brown with dried, crusty blood. The shards of metal that she had to push away with her finger once made up a leg brace.

"Do you have a dog?" She asked.

Maggie blinked for a moment before rubbing her arm. "Oh, yeah," she stammered, "Georgie. My ex-husband gave him to her a couple years ago, and they've been inseparable ever since. Wherever she goes, Georgie's right behind her."

"Does he sleep with her?"

"He's got a spot under the bed."

"Is he big?"

"I'd say bigger than most dogs," she replied, biting her lip. "He's in the basement right now. He'd get nervous with all these strangers in the house right now."

Cindy nodded before turning her head back to stare at her hands. "They don't call them man's best friend for nothing," she said. "Good news is, this isn't Cassie's blood," she continued as the parents breathed a sigh of relief. "Your dog's got a hell of a jaw."

The younger woman ran a hand through her hair, tearing up again. "Oh God, I was so scared it was my baby's-"

"You're saying the dog attacked whatever the hell took Cassie?" Paxton asked in disbelief, staring down at the aftermath of Georgie's attempt to save his beloved friend. It was as if he couldn't believe it himself. That the being who turned Coney Island to rubble a few hours before, murdered dozens, Spider-Man nearly among them, could be brought down by nothing more than a dog.

Cassie can see something in the cop shift. A fire in his eyes. His anxiety is becoming replaced with anger, and worse of all, confidence.

"Your dog was able to get a good grip on their leg," Cindy answered, unsure whether or not to continue and fuel him. "Bit right through the armor here." She moved the pieces and showed them off. "Look at that…"

"He's getting treats for the rest of his life. I just wish he bit their fucking head off," Maggie said with a scowl.

Inspecting the damage more, though, Cindy didn't see it resembling a dog's bite. The crushed metal would have been impossible for even a pit bull. There were no indentations from teeth on the leather and cloth, either. If anything, the Sister seemingly got her leg crushed by giant sheers. Mandibles.

But, that was ridiculous.

"Georgie bit them while they were ready to get Cassie out the window here," she said, moving back to the window sill to point out the scratches and marks. "Given where they were bitten and Cassie's grip, they were dragging her out. Georgie must have gotten the jump on them while they were distracted."

It's not just Cassie's scrapes she can see anymore. Right by the edge of the window itself is a long, thin line that ended abruptly. There was nothing else it could be but a needle. Just as Cassie had, the Sister had tried to grip on for dear life but must have tumbled out after getting attacked, taking the little girl down with her.

Maggie and Jim join her, staring and muttering under their breaths together. Cindy can almost see the thoughts in his mind swirling, the fire in his eyes sparked a few minutes before was on its way to becoming uncontrollable. He's not scared anymore, and that terrifies her. He's thinking he could possibly take them on and finish the job.

What terrifies her even more is that her father thought the same thing.

* * *

 **A/N: A bit of a slow start but the** **next chapter is going to be absolutely wild. Especially for Scott and Luis, oh my God. We'll start to move away from Scott to go back to Peter and how he's dealing. Poor baby needs a break.**

 **Who'd win? A Big Sister, who has destroyed Coney Island, can break Rapture's glass, killed dozens and nearly murdered Peter Parker vs. Big Ant Boi. Georgie is apparently a bullet ant, and it's stinger is the most painful thing you will ever feel in your life, no joke. Now, imagine an ant that size stinging you. That Sister is so fucking lucky.**

 **Also, is Paxton** **stupid enough to hunt down the Sister who took Cassie? Who knows.**


End file.
